


The Federal Department of Corrections

by SolemnSilence170



Category: South Park
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Prison, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Attempted Murder, Attempted Sexual Assault, Cartman being awful, Character Death, Cussing, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Fights, M/M, Manipulation, Moral Lessons, Oral Sex, Platonic Romance, Prison, Public Sex, Resolution, Sexual Content, Shameless Smut, Shower Sex, Smut, Suicide, sex in a chapel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 04:43:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 52,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4990702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolemnSilence170/pseuds/SolemnSilence170
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Butters has been sent to prison and there he meets an array of colorful characters who will either help or hinder his quest to survive. But when he meets a certain blonde inmate, his life behind bars gets a lot more steamy. Meanwhile, Kyle has been framed for crimes he didn't commit. Will he manage to maintain an unlikely romance with a guard? (I know the tags look pretty intimidating, but I swear it's not as bad as you would think. I'm not a fan of heavy triggers, so it's pretty toned down.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Saw is the Law

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this story about a year ago, and it's my best achievement so far. I've grown a lot since I first started writing it, and while I cringe a little at the earlier chapters, I still am pretty proud of it~ I upload it periodically on my Fanfiction account (ToSitInSolemnSilence), but never here. So, now that I finally have, I sincerely hope you enjoy this roller coaster! It's my baby, and while it's not finished yet, I work on it pretty often. Let me know if you like it or not! I always want to improve.

“Squat and cough.”

“Um… w-what?”

“You heard me. Squat your scrawny white ass down and cough.” The blonde prison guard glowered down at me, pinching together her perfectly penciled eyebrows in frustration.

I was naked. Entirely naked, and it was entirely humiliating. This whole experience was humiliating. Here I was, presenting my bare behind to this attractive lady who was prepared to do… something to me with a flashlight. Perhaps it would’ve been better if I wasn’t lined up with a bunch of other guys who were also butt-naked.

“Umm… whatcha doin’ back there, Miss?” I asked, nervous about what was going to happen to my rectum. It’s true that my knowledge of prison was very limited, to put it kindly. I didn’t like not knowing what Miss… Stevens, according to her name plate, was thinking of doing to me. Heck, I wasn’t even technically in prison yet and I was already super jittery.

“What do you think she’s doing back there, stupid? Checking your ass for coke. Or whatever else you can fit up there.” A gravely voice next to me wheezed, and I looked over to see a skinny man with gangly and rather greasy dark hair. He seemed alarmingly underweight and I could probably count each one of his ribs if I really wanted to. His eyes were rimmed in black and his pale flesh was inked out in skulls and scrawly letters. He reminded me of a piece of used parchment.

I wanted to ask him who he was, but I was more concerned with his words at the moment. “Wha-”

“Christ! Cough already!” Snapped Miss Stevens, tapping her dark boot against the white floor tiles theatrically. Complying, I did as I was told and I watched in my peripheral vision as she examined my rear with her little flashlight. Despite my humility, I let out an unintentional chuckle. “What the hell are giggling about, Stotch? You think this is something to laugh at?” She asked roughly. This lady may look real pretty, but she sure was mean. It was all the same to me, though. Women only made me feel nervous and self-aware. Maybe that’s why I like men.

“No ma’am. I was just choking a little, since you asked me ta cough and all.” I bit my lip. I didn’t even know why I HAD to cough in the first place. Tattoo Man said she was looking up my anus for drugs, so why did I have to cough? Are the throat and the butt magically connected or something?

Miss Stevens seemed satisfied. “As you were, then.” And she moved on up to Tattoo Man, who sighed dramatically and coughed like a chain smoker. Judging by his yellowing teeth and the scent of his skin, he probably was. Eventually, our prison guard inspected the rest of us for illegal contraband and yelled angrily at the muscular African American in our sad little group after she pulled out a small plastic bag. I groaned in disgust and looked away, catching a glimpse of Tattoo Man rolling his eyes in sheer boredom.

“Is this your first time in the slammer?” Tattoo Man piped up as were got in line to have our fingerprints taken.

“Yeah. This place is really big! I thought it’d be a lot smaller.” I replied, cringing inwardly at how awed I sound. You gotta stop talking like that, Leopold. People don’t seem to like you talking like that here. “W-What about you?”

“Well, I’ve been serving time for about six years now. Moved on down here once my sentence got shortened.” Tattoo Man explained tiredly, shuffling up in line. “Still got another six left.”

“At least you’ve reached halfway!” I replied, trying to lighten the mood. This guy sure was a downer!

“It’s not half anymore. Not until I get to three.”

That didn’t make much sense to me, so I changed the direction of conversation. “If you don’t m-mind me asking… What’d you do?”

“I do mind.” Tat Man cut in coldly. “Word of advice: don’t ask people that unless you want to get ass-raped. But… Ah, what the hell. You’re new.” He caved, lowering his voice. “I burned down this faggy jock’s house back when I was in college. Wouldn’t of been that bad of a sentence if his little sister hadn’t been inside. Wish I knew that before the place went up like a matchbox.”

I immediately regretted asking. Luckily, it was Tat Man’s turn to get his fingerprints done, and I watched in relative silence as he pressed his fingers in the little blue stamp pad before sloppily placing them against the document. I really needed to watch what I said around here. Most people seem to have it harder than I do.

We all finished up our fingerprints and made our way down the hall to a small locker room, where we were each handed a set of orange suits and a pair of flimsy shoes. Upon further inspection, I discovered a white undershirt and underwear in the fold of clothing too. We were all handed back the temporary IDs given to us shortly after we dressed. Apart from the Muscular Black Man and Tat Man, two others were with us: a brunette fella with a goofy grin short of a couple teeth, and a shorter blonde who seemed to be more like a boy than a man. I really hoped I didn’t look as vulnerable as him, but the odds weren’t much in my favor.

The other blonde and I accidentally made eye contact as we were dressing and he dipped his head in polite acknowledgment. Well golly, he didn’t seem so bad. The again, I wasn’t sure why he was here yet. In turn, the five of us deposited the clothes we had been wearing into plastic zip-lock bags. Now the only reminder we had of the outside world was the skin on our backs, I thought dramatically. Miss Stevens waited rather impatiently for us to finish before courting us out to a vehicle. We drove together in the small van to the interior building, where the real prison was. It was finally happening. I was going to be in prison. For three years. What will this place do to me? Will I become a lowly filthy monster? Or will I manage to get some thicker skin and take care of myself for...365 plus 365 is… plus another 365… 1095 days?! Was that for real?

“Oi! Blondie! Stop daydreaming and get your ass outta the car!” Snapped Miss Stevens, who I was liking less and less. But it wasn’t entirely her fault she had a shitty job, yeah? Either way, I scooted off the seat and onto the ground with an apologetic grimace. Somebody told me before I came here that if you’re nice to the guards, you’ll get more benefits than the others. And that definitely sounded like something I would need in this place. 

The black guy in our group scoffed a little and slumped out of the van after me. He seemed surprisingly gentle, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little scared of him. His arms were massive and little pink scars were littered all around them- one scar even went up his chin to crack through his full lower lip. He clearly had been in some brawls.

“What you looking at, sunshine?” He asked, his voice rich and deep. He didn’t sound angry- almost as if the question were mandatory. But all the same, I stuttered into a shocked, awkward silence.

“I-I’m really s-s-sorry.” I managed, fighting his gaze. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Then stop looking like a deer caught in the headlights. I ain’t gonna rape you, you know.” He chuckled heartily, openly enjoying my panic. “The name’s Token. Token Black.” Was that some kind of joke? He held out his hand and after a frightening pause, I took it with as much firmness as I could muster. 

“Leopold Stotch.” I replied. “It’s nice to know at least one person won’t rape me.” I couldn’t help but warily look over at the brunette who seemed high off of something and clearly unstable. I was surprised to notice an eye patch covering his left eye socket. How had I not seen that before? Now I feel bad for thinking poorly of him.

“Just keep your head low and try your best to avoid any attention. You’ll get by fine.” Token continued. “You might want to get some tattoos or dye your hair or something though. Your looks won’t do you any favors here.”

I gulped slightly, aware that even for 25 I still looked no older than a senior in high school. He had a pretty logical point there, and I was thankful that someone here seemed to care about my well-being. “Thanks. I’ll… keep that in mind.”

“But, if someone does rape you, you just make sure you come crying to me.” He winked, revealing an unnerving, mischievous smirk that made me highly doubt and question everything he had just told me.

“Uhh, right.” I laughed awkwardly, a small bead of sweat forming at the side of my forehead. After the rest of our rag-tag group hopped out of the van, we followed Miss Stevens into the prison’s interior walls. She lead us briskly down some bleach white walls, and other inmates were standing off to the sides as we walked around them. Several of them were eyeing me and the other blonde man up and down with an alarming look in their eyes. I’d rather not stick around to find out what their intentions were.

“Step in here.” Miss Stevens informed me after she has come to a stop in front of a small door. She briskly ushered to the others to wait outside as I stepped forward nervously and pushed open the door. Inside was a camera and lights positioned and facing around a white backdrop. Behind a glass wall was a handsome man in his late twenties. He had dark shaggy hair and a kind demeanor.

I stood and watched in silence as he approached me and walked around the glass panel. “Hi, I’m Stan Marsh. I’ll be taking your ID picture.” Before I could introduce myself he continued. “Step in front of the backdrop and face the camera. This will only take a second, I promise.”

He gave me a reassuring smile before the lights flashed, and I decided I liked this Stan guy a lot. He seemed like he was concerned about me. I hoped this would be a trend here in prison.

A little while later, we stopped by the nurse’s office and went through TB testing- not the skin kind, but the blood kind. I just hated needles, especially if it was for a blood test. The nurse was shaky and fidgety and missed my vein two times, causing me to really feel sore at those little brown eyes behind her pair of glasses. DOCTOR COTSWOLDS read her name plate. I hoped there was another nurse around here somewhere so I could visit them instead from now on.

Quickly after leaving the nurse, Miss Stevens shuffled me into another room, frowning at her watch. This room turned out to be an office similar to that of a principal’s or a manager’s. It was spacey but was surprisingly cluttered with junk and odd assortments that appeared to be collections. A stamp collection, beetle collection… there was even a lipstick collection, which was just plain weird since the person behind the desk was an older man. “I’m Mr. Mackey and I’ll be your counselor for your time here, mmkay? Now- Leopold, was it? Leopold, why are you here in prison?”

“Umm.” I sat down in the chair in front of him. “I-Isn’t that on file?”

“Well, yes, but do YOU know why you’re here?” He elaborated, picking up a ball point pen from an array of different types and flipping open a file marked STOTCH, LEOPOLD. Well that was plain embarrassing.

“Yeah, I know.” I sighed. “I did somethin’ pretty bad.”

“Mmkay. And what was that, exactly?”

“I robbed s-some jewelry stores in Nebraska, Kansas, Oklahoma… Texas, I think, and New Mexico. Pawned the jewelry off in different states. F-Finally me an’ my partner got caught robbing a bank h-here in Colorado.” I stated as emotionlessly as I could.

“Why did you rob jewelry stores and a bank, Leopold? Do you know?”

“Yeah, ‘course I do!” I stated a little defensively. “We both needed the money. Both of us were pretty decent fellas back in college, but I was gettin’ nowhere with my major in art and Dougie… well, he was just tired of being so straight-laced all the time. So one night we decided to try robbing a nearby 7-11. Just to see if w-we could. Well, as it turns out, we were caught on camera. So… we just ran for it. And kept running until we had hit the next state over. It wasn’t all that smart, I know, but each time we snuck out in the middle of the night to steal… It was just so exhilarating. Pretty soon, the money wasn’t the reason anymore. We just wanted to see how much we could get away with. Before we got caught.”

“Well, it’s good that you know why you’re here. Mmkay, that’s real good. Tell me a little bit about your family life.” Mr Mackey was writing down a lot of what I had said, though I wasn’t sure why. He had it all on file, after all.

“I-I’m an only child.” I started. “Both my parents are alive and well. They… they have pretty high expectations for me, so they were real sore when they found out about… you know, my stealing and such. When I got arrested I was more or less disowned from the family. But… truth be told, I’m kinda glad I was. Ever since m-my dad found out about me likin’ m-men he’s been trying ta f-fix me. We got in a pretty big argument before I went to college.”

“Mmkay. Will either of your parents be signed up on the PSI then? That’s for visiting hours on every Saturday.” The counselor replied a little insensitively.

“Um, no. Well, maybe my mom. Linda Stotch. And my Aunt Nelly.” I said slowly, mulling over the list of people I knew and coming up with a grand zero. Dougie had been my only college friend, and he was sent to another prison in Colorado. My high school friends and I were never close, and we didn’t talk often anymore.

“Mmkay, I’ll give you some forms for them and after you they’re filled out I’ll give you a PAC number. You can call your family during phone hours and discuss visitation with them then.” Mr. Mackey drilled me in, rifling through a stack of papers before handing me some. At least now I had something to pass the time with.

“Now,” he continued. “This prison isn’t terrible. I promise you that gang rape rarely happens here. The most that will probably happen to you will be robbing, and probably some men will try to move in on you from time to time, mmkay. Tensions heighten the longer you’re in prison for, so watch out for that. Some inmates might try to use you as a punching bag, or might try to rape you in the showers. Try your best not to let them, mmkay? The guards will usually catch most of it, but we can’t prevent everything. STDs are a huge issue in prison, and the only way we’ve managed to successfully contain it is by having protection readily available in the bathrooms. Your health is our number one priority, mmkay? Don’t forget that.”

The weight of our conversation sat upon my shoulders heavily. Suddenly, I wasn’t feeling so optimistic about prison after all. “A-A-Alright.”

“Mmkay. You’re better get going then. Inspection is coming up pretty soon, and it’d be real bad if you were late. Don’t forget that orientation is in the morning.”

And with that, I stood up and left the peculiar man’s equally peculiar office and hurried outside. Only to slam into Miss Stevens.

“Inmate! Back the FUCK off!” She snarled at me, brushing off her jacket sleeves angrily.

“Oh gosh! I’m so so sorry!!” I yelped, praying to Jesus, Mary, and Joseph that I wasn’t smacked down and killed right then and there.

“Do it again, Stotch. I dare you.” Miss Stevens swept her long blonde hair back and marched on crossly. “Warren, Donovan, Stotch. You’ll be staying in Room B. Pirrup and Black, you’ll be in Room E over there. Stand by your bunk when the light overhead flashes unless you want to get written up. A guard with come around and click you in. Move one inch from your spot by your bunk and there’ll be problems. Understand?”

I nodded in response but felt idiotic since the only the other blonde inmate acknowledged her as well. Respect apparently wasn’t how to make friends here. I really couldn’t do anything right, could I?

We watched as Token and the blonde boy, Pirrup?, walked after Miss. Stevens. The Tat Man and Eyepatch Guy walked inside Room B with me.

We weren’t alone. Inside were two other men, both of whom reminded me a lot of Tat Man, who was named either Warren or Donovan. The two in the room both had pale faces and sullen expressions, but one had red streaks in his hair that were quickly fading out and the other was a good two feet shorter than it looked like he should be. The Short One had a strange dragon tattoo on his cheekbone that stretched and curled along the right side of his face. He looked up from a book he was reading to size us up.

“Look at these posers.” He sniffed, curling his lip up at us mockingly. “That blond one looks like a total fag.”

“H-Hey!” I exclaimed, startled.

“Chill out, dude. Firkle’s just teasing you. But really. Who the fuck are you people?” The red-haired man drawled, and I noticed that unlike the three of us these two had on tan outfits. I couldn’t help but envy that a little.

“W-Well, I’m Leopold Stotch.” I responded nervously, looking over to my two companions. I felt closer to these two now that they were the only people I even remotely knew here. I had a haunch that I was the only one that could feel this bond, however.

“I’m Michael Warren.” Replied Tat Man with a cough. He moved towards the bottom bunk that was underneath ‘Firkle’, apparently claiming that as his own.

“I’m Clyde Donovan.” Eyepatch Guy piped up, grabbing an extra pillow from below and tossing it up to where he was assumingly sleeping. I supposed I would take the bed underneath him.

“This is Firkle, and I’m Pete.” Redhead stated simply, watching as we set up our pitiful sheets and pillowcases. “If any of you try to fuck him, I will knife you in your sleep. Got that? I got him into prison, therefore he’s my responsibility.”

Firkle finally payed attention. “You didn’t GET me into prison, retard. I got me into prison when I raped that cop’s daughter.”

Pete huffed audibly. “Well, DUH. But if I hadn’t punched the cop in the face and then pissed on him, you wouldn’t have felt inspired to sleep with her. Therefore, my fault.”

“Frankly, if you HADN’T flipped out on that damn cop, I would have. He was insulting our culture and claimed that our local heavy metal band had stolen a cover from Whitechapel. Clearly anyone would’ve pissed on his bleeding face after that.” Firkle summed up, satisfied with his logic.

“Whoa, you two are apeshit crazy!” Donovan cut in, his mouth forming an amazed little ‘o’. “I would never do something as awful as that to someone!”

“Oh yeah, poser? Why ARE you here, then?” Pete snickered, not seeming very offended by Clyde’s comment.

“It all started at one of my frat parties.” Clyde began, leaping up on his made bed creakily. “My friend and I were pretty high, and he dared me to walk around our town entirely naked. So I did. It was really funny how people would react- ladies would cover their kid’s faces with their hands, people would whistle… I’m pretty well-endowed, so I didn’t really have anything to worry about anyway. But some cops eventually heard of the guy running around naked, so I decided to go for a little road trip. ‘Cause even stone cold sober it was fun watching people panic over something as simple as a naked dude. I went all the way from Washington to Colorado naked before I was caught. I was high at the time of my arrest, so I was a little violent. Kneed a copper in the balls, apparently. But my sentence is pretty short, so I’m not all that worried.”

I was in awe of the dopey brunette before me and these two darker men. Compared to their crazy stories, my thievery was about as interesting as the nightly news channel.

“What an idiot.” Pete laughed, and before Donovan could respond with a sharp retort, the light overhead flashed. “Aw, shit. Get outta bed you naked loser before the guard gets here!”

Clyde flew out of his bed and stood next to me comically. Despite his rather ignorant reasons for being here, he was alright. Maybe a little slow and not really my type, but that was forgivable. I was a little nervous about Pete and Firkle though. They didn’t seem like people I wanted to upset, considering I didn’t want to get piss on my wounds or my family raped. 

I was a little relieved when it was Stan who came through to check us in. He gave me a small smile and a worried crease of the brow before disappearing. Shortly after he left, Miss. Stevens came in to double-check us, and gave me a not-so-worried glare. I was glad when she disappeared.

“S-So now what?” I asked the room, cautious about addressing anyone outright.

“Now, we eat dinner.” Pete informed as Firkle bookmarked his page. “Come on, Blondie. Tonight’s lasagna.”

We stalked out of the room with the other inmates and all migrated towards the cafeteria. Faces swirled around me in a dizzying blur, and I chose to stick close to Clyde and Michael. We reached the cafeteria and I was shocked to see other fellow inmates working the kitchen.

“Hey, um… Pete?” I addressed the pale man, who looked up at me questioningly.

“What?”

“Can anyone work in the k-kitchen?”

“Why? You wanna be a housewife too?” He snickered. “Yeah, if there’s a spot open. You’ll have to talk to… Actually, that might not be a very good idea.”

“Huh? Why not?”

“The head chef is absolutely insane.”

“What? He can’t be that bad…”

“No, really. You didn’t hear this from me, but there’s something seriously messed up with him.” Pete insisted, casting a wary look towards the kitchen.

“I heard he killed a woman. Just ‘cause.” Firkle added, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. “Asked him how his day was and snap! That was the end of her!”

“No way…” I breathed, terrified of the person that would be making my meals from now on.

I thought about skipping dinner, but my impending hunger eventually won me over. I filed in line next to Clyde. Two men were serving us our food- one was very plain-looking and had light brown hair, and the other was striking. He too seemed rather simple, but instead of looking ordinary like the other, he was almost elegant. He had dark midnight hair and icy blue eyes. Long slender fingers encased the serving spoon as he served me some questionable broccoli. He was tall, thin, and seemed extremely serious about handing out the perfect serving sizes. I would’ve thought he was perfect if not for the subdued animalistic fire in his light blue eyes. We were in prison, and he was almost certainly dangerous. Just keep walking, Leopold.

After I got my helping of dinner, I had the very immediate issue of where to sit. It was like high school antics all over again. I sighed and scoped out my odds this time.

Over at the closest table was the ‘black clan’. Normally, there would be NO white people there whatsoever, but to my surprise there was, not just one, but two white men in the very center of the table, laughing like they couldn’t be happier. I’m not a racist or anything, but I thought racial segregation was how you identified yourself in prison. Apparently not in this prison. And these two weren’t just white either. One had a pair of crutches carefully placed underneath his seat, and the other was in an actual wheelchair. This prison seemed a lot nicer than I first thought! Maybe I should go sit by them.

But as I approached the odd group, I heard a low hiss and they all turned to stare at me incredulously. “What the hell are you d-d-d-doing here?” Spoke the man with the crutches.

“Uh..” I looked around at the men, who all looked ready to jump and shiv me. “... I-I’m sorry!” I squeaked and backed away. Gosh, that was embarrassing. Note to self: the only cool black person here so far is Token. Where was Token? I hadn’t spotted him over at that table. I scanned around.

The first person aside from Token I looked for was Clyde, and at first I thought he had disappeared too, but he was leaning against a table talking to that really attractive guy serving food. Well, more like talking at him. The kitchen guy didn’t seem too involved in what Clyde had to say. I smiled a little and looked back at the tables. A massive man with enormous biceps had decided to sit across from Firkle, Pete, and Michael, who were looking extremely irritated. Another man resembling the three darker guys was on the edge of the table next to the bulky guy. I couldn’t see either of their faces from this angle. At another table sat Pirrup and, low and behold, Token, who seemed very uninterested in the blonde before him. The cafeteria was very crowded, and I couldn’t tell much from the other faces I saw, so I decided to play it safe and sit by Firkle, Pete, and Michael.

“H-Hey guys.” I greeted, sliding next to the huge man after a moment’s hesitation. He won’t kill you, Leopold. no matter how huge his hands are…

“Finally.” Pete sighed, looking at me with subdued amusement. “I thought you were going to shit yourself over there. Why the hell would you approach the Black Table like that?”

“Yeah, dude. You’ve got to have some seriously balls for that.” The massive man to my left rumbled. I glanced at him as nonchalantly as I could muster and nearly wet myself, much to my horror. He had a mop of messy light brown hair and dark jaded eyes- his expression so sharp he could have been in a war. His torso was enormous- not in an overweight way, but in a ‘I Will Pulverize You’ way. But what had startled me was his skin. Bruises shaded his jaw and right eye socket, and his lip had been recently busted open. He was even missing a canine. This guy truly looked like he belonged behind bars, and it rattled me to the bone that he was less than a foot away. “Don’t ever approach the Black Table unless you have a clean-cut plan.” He continued, noting and ignoring my analysis of him.

“Why is it the Black Table if there’s…” I trailed off, uncertain of how to state my question without sounding like a racist asshole.

“If there’s to white guys crippled as shit in the center?” The scary man finished, laughing at me in a booming way. “Those two are hardcore. Like, seriously twisted. They might even be a part of the mob or something. Don’t let their appearances fool you.” He lowered his voice. “They use their appearance to elicit pity. And when you back is turned… it’s lights out for you. Truly terrifying.” He snickered. “I’m Eric, by the way. Eric Cartman.”

“Oh, well it’s nice to meet you, Cartman! I’m Leopold Stotch.” I cheered up, deciding to give this guy the benefit if the doubt. He seemed nice, at least.

“It’s Eric. Call me Cartman again and you’ll be sucking my dick each mealtime.” He stated flatly, flitting his cold eyes to meet mine.

“Oh wow! I-I’m real sorry about that!” I gasped.

“I’m real sorry about that, Eric. Say it.” He snapped stabbing a fork into his lasagna.

“I-I’m real s-sorry about that, Eric.” I obeyed, trying to convey that I wasn’t a threat.

“Good. Now give me half of your food.”

“I...well… okay…” I resigned, scraping exactly one half of my food portions onto his plate. I don’t think I like sitting here very much.

“Now, you Depressed Emo Fag Guys,” Eric began, getting angry glares in response. “I need your help. Tucker’s pretty scared by my higher status over him, so I think he’s going to be getting some fuck buddies to help him gang rape me or something. Which means I need to do it first. Now, I know you guys are like totally gay and don’t care about anyone but yourselves, but I need you to get your heads out of your asses and help a brother out. You just need to be a part of my gang so we can rape him. It’s not a big deal.”

Pete groaned and face-palmed. “No way, dude. You have Thorn. Give him some matches or something and spout some satanist bullcrap and he’ll be at your beck and call. There’s no way we’d rape anybody just so you could maintain your faggy little popularity.”

“At least, not another guy.” Firkle added nonchalantly.

“Fine, fine, I get the idea.” Eric sniffed, trying to show us how hurt he was. “Don’t help your friend Eric. It’s not like he’s ever listened to our retarded problems anyway or kept us company.”

“That’s right. You haven’t.” Pete stated in a deadpan tone.

“Well fuck all of you too! Me and Thorne will go plan out the end times and the extermination of the Jews!” Eric snapped, standing briskly. “You know, blondie, you seem pretty hardcore for having a babyface. You can tag along too.”

“S-Sorry, Eric. I wouldn’t know t-the first thing about r-raping anybody.” I stammered, hiding my face behind my fork. 

“What’re you in for, anyway?” He asked rather cockily.

“R-Robbery.”

“Oh? What’d you take?”

“Jewelry an’ m-money. From a bank.”

Eric’s eyes glittered. “You can pick locks then?”

“Yeah, I’d say so. Dougie did most of ‘em, b-but he taught me the basics.”

“I’ll be seeing you later, then.” He said cryptically, and left without another word. The dark-haired boy who had been silent this whole time followed him obediently.

I watched as Eric and Thorne left, and suddenly something else caught my attention. At the table to our left was a man. He was blonde, young, and entirely alone. His face was lean and strong, and his clothes seemed too baggy for him, despite seeming to be the smallest size. His eyes were piercing and his dirty blonde hair was just past his ears and shaggy, but in a rough, attractive way. His eyes seemed weathered, like he had seen and been through a lot and as I looked closer, I could see that the cartilage on one of his ears was heavily pierced. He seemed pretty content with sitting alone. I watched as the nice guard I had met before, Stan Marsh, walked past him with a small smile. An object covered by a napkin was handed off to the man, who gave an appreciative grin in return. He hid the package underneath his table, but judging from the food he ate moments later, it was safe to say that someone had gotten a second desert. 

“That’s one you gotta watch out for.” Pete stated, noticing my gaze. “That’s McCormick. I know he doesn’t look like much, but he’s an animal when he’s upset. He’s been sent to solitary more times than even Eric. And, to top it off…” His voice quieted to a whisper. “He finds ways of escaping. Frequently. He just… disappears sometimes. And then weeks later he’ll come back with an added sentence and some cracked ribs. Loads of people have tried beating him up for his secret, but like I said before, the guy is a total beast. No one knows how he gets out of the prison, and most people have given up trying to get answers out of him. It’s just not smart to go fucking with McCormick. He and Eric have gone toe to toe several times, but never very seriously. But I bet if they got in an actual fight, Kenny would be the first to kick that bastard’s ass.”

“No way.” Firkle cut in. “McCormick’s a twig. Eric would crush him, hands down.”

“Eric’s only got brute strength though. McCormick’s real fast, and always hits first, and hits hard. He’s a witty asshole too. You forgetting that time he and I fought over the showers? He plays dirty.”

“Yeah, but you’re a pushover dude.”

“Hey!”

I had lost interest in their friendly banter and glanced back at McCormick. He really was an interesting fella. And his piercing made him look pretty cute in an almost punky way. 

“Does he hang out with anybody?” I interrupted suddenly, snapping the two out of their heated discussion.

“Who, McCormick? Not really. Like I said, most people are pretty wary of him because of his knack for fighting. I think everyone’s a little bitter too- it’s been years since any of us have gotten out from behind these fences. McCormick seems to come and go as he pleases. It causes a little resentment from the best of us.” Pete changed the subject. “Anyway, you better finish your food, Dinner’s over in a couple minutes.

Crap. He was right. I shoveled the remainder of my not-so-delicious meal down and walked through the crowd back to Room B. Shortly after we got settled in for the night, Stan popped by.

“So guys, I’m reminding you that tomorrow morning at 8:30 you have orientation. So wake up before that if you want to shower and have a breakfast. Also, after you get back from orientation, your new dorm rooms will be posted on your door here. I think all of you in Room B have a roommate, but don’t quote me on that. Breakfast will start at seven and end at nine, but unlike other meals, you can leave breakfast at any time. We have a guest showing up for your orientation tomorrow, so try to be respectful. I have a feeling it’ll be a little challenging this time…” Stan looked away and cracked a secretive grin. “Anyway, sleep well and don’t be late for orientation! Here’s a toothbrush, toothpaste, and some deodorant for you guys. Normally guards don’t give this stuff to you at all, but I don’t want to be totally heartless.” He paused. “So if you rat me out, I’ll give you a shot. Alright?”

This time, everyone nodded respectfully. “Good. Have a nice night everyone.” And with that, he left.

After the many stealing speeches I’ve been given today, I hid my toothbrush, paste, and deodorant protectively in my pillowcase before laying down. It made my pillow a little lumpy, but the extra security was worth it. I kicked my legs out childishly in front of me and mulled everything over. 

A lot had happened today. This place was so real, so depressing it was an undeniably hard adjustment. I didn’t like constantly assuming my peers were up to no good, but if I didn’t… I wouldn’t have changed. All those times I was taken advantage of, bullied, used as somebody else’s scapegoat… They would mean nothing if I continued to turn a blind eye and let it happen. I had to grow up already and take control of my own life. And right now, my own decisions led me here.

A thumping overhead snapped me out of my thoughts. Was Clyde having a violent nightmare or something? But the creaking was so rhythmic, it was almost like…

“D-Donovan? Are you...?!” 

“Aahh… Hah..”

“H-Hey! D-Do that somewhere else!”

“Hold on… almost…”

I shot out of bed and through one of my flimsy shoes up at him in frustration.

“Ow! Ah… Ha!!” The bunk bed stilled. Suddenly, I regretted throwing my shoe up there.

“N-Next time warn me a little first.”

“Sure thing, hon.”

 

I woke up that morning at around 7:00 AM feeling sore and tired. I’m one of those people that has to sleep on their stomachs, no matter the occasion. And apparently last night my lumpy pillow waged a war against the side of my neck and won. Sleeping in was something I was going to miss here.

The showers were a living nightmare. Privacy was a luxury that had no place in prison- even most of the toilet stalls didn’t have doors. I was always self-conscious about my body- I didn’t want to do anything in here. But I buckled down and stripped, praying to God no one would take advantage of me, before stepping into a shower. Apparently warm water and clean shower floors were other luxuries too refined for prison. To top it off, men were yelling at me to hurry after only two minutes of being in there. I sat down on a wooden bench and dried off next to Michael, who chuckled as I widened my eyes at a black spore living at the base of a sink.

But suddenly, in stepped something much more interesting than my black spiky sink companion. McCormick, the blonde who had sat by himself at dinner had walked in the shower room with us. I was immediately aware that I was staring, but I couldn’t help it; the mysterious man had managed to capture my intrigue. Without a hint of shame he stripped in front of everyone and sat down on the bench directly beside me. He held his clothes in a loose ball and take this moment to look at me for perhaps the first time.

I was speechless in his deep, dark blue gaze.

“Who are you, Newbie?” He spoke, his voice velvety and tranquil. He didn’t seem as scary as everyone said- in fact, his syrupy voice seemed to calm me down and make me feel even more self-aware than before. 

“I… I’m… Stotch. Leopold Stotch.” I finally managed, my tongue behaving like cooked spaghetti.

“Scotch? As in, the candy?” He asked, gracing me with a warming smirk.

“Um, no. Stotch with a ‘t’.” I clarified, feeling like the world’s biggest smartass.

“I like it. You kind of look like butterscotch too.” He went on. “You know, you hair is all bright and blonde and whatnot. It suits you.”

“Uh, th-thank you.” I felt my face get hot, and couldn’t help but fight off the beginnings of an embarrassing problem. 

“Oh.” He said simply. I panicked, certain he noticed my hard-on. “A shower’s open. I guess I’ll see you around, Butterscotch.” He purred into my ear and departed abruptly, leaving me to watch his retreating… naked… self. 

“You really have a boner for that guy, huh?” Michael spoke up, causing me to jump a little.

“No! I just find him i-interesting. He’s so… content by himself. You know?”

“Not really, no.”

I sighed and quickly to get changed before anyone noticed my slight arousal.


	2. Kill Everybody

“This screwdriver was stolen from the tool belt of a repair man. It was used to gouge out a man’s eyes and was violently shoved up his rectum. The guilty inmate is now locked up in solitary and has been in there for three months. If I find any weapons on you, I’ll boot you down there too, understand?” Mr. Marsh stood in front of our gaggle of plastic chairs with a worn expression on his face. He seemed several decades older than he actually was, but considering the undoubted stress from his job I couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity for him. 

Orientation had been going on for about thirty minutes now. We had watched a hopeful man on an old TV screen tell us about the opportunities for fitness, education, recreation, and pastimes here in prison. Clyde had found the film so hilarious he had started snorting. Miss Stevens had slapped him quite harshly with a handful of her paperwork until he fell silent.

I was growing increasingly worried about where my dorm would be and, more importantly, who I would be sharing it with. I had decided pretty early on that someone like Cartman or any black people (excluding Token) would probably beat me to a bloody pulp or worse, and I was hating the idea of not getting along with someone I’d be living with.

“Thank you, Mr. Marsh.” Chimed out a woman’s polished voice. It definitely wasn’t Miss Stevens, so I turned with everyone else to get a look at the new person who had joined us. She was simply gorgeous; long sleek black hair, striking brown eyes, and skin like milk. She certainly didn’t look like she fit in here among us scuffy inmates at all. “Hello, everyone. My name is Wendy Testaburger. I’m the prison warden here at the Colorado Department of Corrections. I’ll be telling you a little about how things work around here and what we expect from you. Most prisons don’t agree with mixing lifers in with the rest of you, but I think it’s an eye-opening opportunity for you to reflect on where you want go after your stay here. Hopefully being around them will allow you to see that prison should not be your final destination. Never forget that you always have a chance to strive above what people expect from you and make a life better for yourself and others. Until you get a life sentence and fuck up your parole.” She gave us a strained ‘I’m joking’ smile that seemed ineffective. 

“Now, Stan talked to you about health threats and what violates the ground rules we have here-”

“I know what I want to violate.” Mumbled a younger prisoner from the back of the room, earning a few snickers.

“Broflovski.” Miss Testaburger sighed. “You just got out of solitary. Are you really that anxious to get back in?”

I angled my head slightly so I could get a better view of this ‘Broflovski’ in my peripheral vision. He was undeniably a Canadian, though I couldn’t place why I knew that to be so, and had a pretty smug expression on his face. Back home, my dad would probably refer to him as a ‘Wise Guy’.

He was silent and let Wendy continue her speech. “As I was saying, you will each get to sign up for an elective job here in prison. Such jobs include kitchen duty, bathroom duty, mopping hallways floors, fixing electrical outages, helping in the AIDS wards, as well as other options. This is so you can help pitch in around prison and learn some handy skills you can use once your terms have been served. It’s an opportunity you should take with all seriousness.”

Clyde stood suddenly and threw his arms out, shocking the rest of us. “Look, are you almost finished? ‘Cause some of us got better things to do.”

Wendy’s almond eyes narrowed menacingly. “Sit. Down. Donovan. Or I swear to God you’ll be cleaning clogged up shit out of toilets for the next month.”

He sat down angrily and Miss Testaburger then went on to discuss visitation rights and how commissary was handled (I was surprised to learn that under no circumstances were we allowed to actually touch physical bills or coins). “Now, that about does it. When you get back to your rooms, you’ll find a list on your door telling you where your new dorms are. You cannot request roommates, but if you have a legitimate reason you can move to a different dorm. Stop by my office if you have any legal questions or issues with how the prison is run.”

And with that, we were dismissed. I made my way back to my room, feeling more than a little sad to be leaving my strange assortment of roomies, glad to be leaving Clyde’s nightly habits behind, and anxiously excited to meet my new roommate. I prayed multiple times for God to be merciful and give me someone with even just a few morals.

The beaten wooden door to our room was huddled around as Clyde, Michael, Pete, and Firkle scanned the little sheet of yellow paper. “Looks like you’ve got one of the newbies, Donovan. Cube 12 is empty.” I heard Pete announce.

“Oh shit…” He hissed, looking back at the paper. 

“W-What?” I asked, walking up to them and joining the cluster.

“I feel sorry for you man. You’re screwed.” Pete let out a humorless chuckle, looking at me with a twinge of pity.

“Huh? W-Why?!” I demanded, looking at the yellow sheet. But the words ‘Dorm A Cube 24’ told me nothing but where I was headed. 

Pete rolled his eyes at my rising panic. “Your roommate’s the guy from the night before. I’d really watch what I say around him- he’s apeshit crazy. His last roommate offed himself, and for weeks after he’d just sit there on his bed and talk to him like he was still there. There’s just something not right about him.”

“Guy from the night before…?” I asked, not sure if he was referring to Eric, McCormick, or even Thorn. But Pete just smirked, relishing my fevered terror, and stalked off. 

I frowned in irritation before ducking around everyone to get in and retrieve my measly belongings. Despite only letting us take in whatever fit in a large envelope, I was thankful for the pictures of my family and the old letters from my one and only ex-girlfriend back in high school, Lexus. Even though we had ended things rather quickly, I still read through the letters to remind myself that, at one point in time, someone liked me enough to let me know. They always managed to pick me up a little whenever I was in a funk. The photos of my parents made me feel a little guilty, but I also liked being reminded that I had a life once out there that, yeah, had its faults, but it wasn’t absolutely terrible. The pictures of Dougie and I were just silly little reminders of my not-so-distant college life.

I picked up my envelope of ‘personal items’ and awkwardly clutched my newly acquired cleaning products I had stashed from the night before and headed for this ‘Dorm A Cube 24’, juggling the items stubbornly before giving up and carrying them in a temporary sack made from the front of my uniform. I got a few curious looks down the hallway and someone I didn’t even know slapped my bum and whistled at me. It was extremely embarrassing and I fast-walked the rest of my way to the Dorms with a red face. It took me a while, but I finally found the right washed-out hallway to turn down and was greeted with rows and rows of small stone cubicles. The ‘walls’ only went up to about my shoulder, and there were no doors. So that’s how they kept an eye on us at night. A big blocky ‘A’ was spray painted on the side of the first hallway opening, letting me know which cluster of cubicles I belonged to. I went in and walked down the rows of sleeping areas, pleased to see that instead of clanky bunk beds we had two separate, unattached ones. I still felt pretty traumatized from last night’s fiasco with Clyde. 

20… 22… 24. I was finally at my new ‘home’. I peered in between the stony walls curiously. There was no one there. Whoever my roommate was must be out. I took that moment to survey the cubicle. It was pretty plain like most of the others, but there was a surprising amount of personal items. Books and magazines were stacked on a rickety end table hastily- like they were normally neat, but had been read through recently and a bout of laziness prevented returning them to their proper place. A poster for NASCAR was stuck to the wall, somewhat crookedly. Several intricate drawings were also taped on his side of the room too, and next to them were pictures of a girl, her age varying in each picture. She was young and beautiful with a sunny smile. It was safe to say she was a sister or a family friend of some sort. Suddenly, I felt terribly dirty for snooping through this man’s stuff. However I still grinned when I noticed his pillowcase, which had bottle openers and corks lining the sides of a barrel-esque wooden pattern. It’s funny how the little things tell so much about us.

I moved silently over to the cold, empty bed that would be mine. It was sad how little character it had next to my roommate’s. I’d have to buy some things to make it more lively when commissary rolled by, or if my Aunt Nelly sent me things from the outside. 

I set down my measly things and opened the drawer of my own rickety end table, which was identical to his. As I began putting away my deodorant, toothpaste, and what have you, I heard a surprised “Oh”.

“Butterscotch. I didn’t know you’d be my new roomie.” 

McCormick. McCormick was the person I’d be living with from now on. A flame of excitement brewed in my chest, quelling slightly when I realized what that meant. He’s the crazy guy Pete was talking about?

“Oh, hey! Y-Yeah, I suppose so.” I gave him my best wary look. “Y-You’re not going to try anything funny at night, are you?”

He grinned sheepishly. “You caught me. When everyone’s asleep, I put on a pair of ladies underwear and beat off.”

“...HUH?”

“I’m just dicking with you.” McCormick laughed, sitting down casually on his bed. “Try not to take what I say too seriously.” Changing the subject, he spoke again. “So how’s prison treating you? The slammer’s a blast, isn’t it? I remember my first week here was just pure hell. Adjusting to the cafeteria food was awful, the people at the time were a lot tougher than this lot, and it seemed like everyone was trying to shove their dicks in my ass. Which I can’t say I mind much now, heh, but back then it was pretty scarring. Us blondes have to watch our backs.” He winked at me, which made me smile a little. He wasn’t scary at all. Pete must’ve been trying to make me nervous.

“T-That hasn’t happened to me yet.” I began, hoping he’d say more so I’d get an idea of what was in store for me. He did.

“Well, back then everyone was pretty upfront about it. Now… shit, it’s a lot more terrifying. You get on good terms with a guy, right? And then the next week he’ll be asking favors from you, just for being nice at the right time. Pretty soon, you’ve got his dick in your mouth and you’re in the AIDS Ward. Just remember, Butterscotch, nothing is free here.” McCormick snickered, opening his drawer and taking out, of all things, a Kit-Kat. He broke it in half and grinned. “On that note, want some?”

I blinked, unsure if he was just joking again or trying to prove an awful point. “Uhh…”

“Look, I’m not like them.” He said, gesturing for me to sit next to him before handing me the sweet. “I’ve been here for eight years. I have a life sentence, too. Up for parole in seven, but I don’t have high hopes in that department. I know I’m going to live my whole life here until I die. So, you can say I’ve kind of given up on these people. I don’t want to become what this place expects me to be. And that’s why you can trust me.”

“Shit.” I murmured, feeling awful for him. His life was basically over. But I wouldn’t tell him that. “But, I mean, y-you haven’t gone through parole yet. Maybe you’ll get settled down on a nice enough job and get back on track. Sure, it’s a long shot, but it’s still a shot nonetheless!”

He chuckled, breaking my heart slightly. “Well, fuck. That’s probably the first time I’ve heard someone tell me that since I got here. You’re not bad, Butterscotch. Hey, what’re you up to today?”

“Umm, I don’t think I’m doing anything. I mean, the only thing I’ve been told I have this week is signing up for work later this afternoon.” I replied, unsure of where this was going as I plopped the melting half of Kit-Kat in my mouth. God, that was good.

“Do you have any idea what job you want?” He asked, bringing his knees up to his chest and rocking slightly. It was a little odd, but hey, this was the slammer. This morning I saw a guy lick Mr. Marsh’s hand seductively. Weirder things have happened.

“Well, I used to be interested in being a chef before I decided to get an Art major, so I was thinking maybe I’d work in the kitchen. But Stenson and Davidson told me it probably wasn’t a good idea, so I’m not so sure.” I explained, looking over just in time to see McCormick frown.

“Were they talking about the staff?” He asked seemingly moodily.

“Yeah, th-they said the head chef k-killed a lady.” I said with a tone of seriousness, not sure whether this was true or another prank.

“He’s just a little jumpy.” McCormick shrugged. “If he had the proper medication, he probably would’ve left her alone.”

My jaw dropped on the floor, and I took a moment to pick it up. “Y-Y-You’re… serious? Th-That actually happened?”

McCormick cast an anxious glance to the ceiling before looking back at me. “Well, yeah. Not sure if I should tell you or if he should, but what the hell. We all know, so you’re bound to find out too one way or another. Tweak has a bit of a bipolar problem. They’ve been trying for ages to get his dosage right, but he said that he only got worse with the name-brand shit he was given at the time. His mood swings were getting pretty severe, and the day before that he was mugged. Stripped of his clothes and his phone, watch, and wallet were stolen. He was pretty jittery the next day. So, he’s walking to his work, right? And a woman greets him on the side of the road. Well, he didn’t see her until she said hello and he screams and snaps her neck. Just like that. He was surprised and flipped out, and all the neighbors saw. He has a life sentence like me.”

My mouth was still slightly open in shock. This was nothing as light-hearted as running around state to state naked. “I-Is he taking his proper medication?!”

“Well, now. Yeah, he’s actually really good considering he killed a woman and all. Hasn’t wailed on anyone here except for the first couple of months he was in. Plus, he managed to befriend that ex-cop Cartman hates so much.” McCormick snickered, clearly imagining the large man’s angry red face.

“E-Eric would be mad if he heard you c-callin’ him Cartman, you know.” I began nervously, casting a glance around to make sure no one overheard.

“Good. Only his true enemies call him ‘Cartman’.” McCormick stated simply, as it was a well-known fact. “Hey, how about I introduce you? Tweak won’t flip out, I swear. He’s a good guy now.”

I couldn’t help but grip the sheets nervously. “M-Maybe later. But you could show me around the place, i-if you want.”

“Fine by me.”

We made for the door. “S-So, McCormick, what do you do around here?”

“As a job? I work in the library. It’s quiet, simple, and I don’t have to put up with people there. I like it.” He had a fond smile on his face. “And it’s Kenny.”

“Alright, Kenny then.”

“Do you want me to stop calling you Butterscotch?” He asked suddenly, as we were headed out of the Dorm area.

“No, it’s fine. I kind of hate my real name. Leopold is so… Ugh.” 

“Well, Butters. You got busted at the right time. Today’s Friday, which means the weekend’s coming up. Tomorrow’s commissary, so hopefully you didn’t wait ‘til the last minute to send your check. And Sunday’s the best. Movie night. I think this week it’s Indiana Jones.” I had to admit, it was pretty cute seeing Kenny get excited over something so simple.

“Raiders of the Lost Ark, Temple of Doom, The Last Crusade, or, God be damned, the Crystal Skull?” I asked.

“Think this time it’s good old-fashioned Raiders of the Lost Ark. Not even prison guards are cruel enough to play Crystal Skull.”

This time I laughed. Despite my rather sheltered upbringing, Dougie had set aside some time to catch me up on the classics, which I’ll never stop being thankful for. Hello Kitty was a chapter of my life I had ripped up, burned, and promptly forgot about. Kenny and I made our way outside.

“This is the track field, and over there is the greenhouse. Back there’s the field where we grow vegetables and wheat. And that’s the workshop area. And this up here is the guard tower, where guards will shoot you from if you run anywhere other than on the track field.” Kenny summarized dryly, pointing a narrow finger as he was directing me. “The track field’s really nice if you’re one of those ‘morning jogger’ types. And we grow some cucumbers in case you’re ever in need of a dildo.” 

I coughed, surprised yet again by his forwardness. That’d take some getting used to. “Well, if the fellas here are as p-perverted as you say, there’s really not much point, is there?”

Kenny blinked and bit his lip before speaking again. “I have to ask… What is someone like you doing here? I know your type- you’re too nice to do anything that’d put you in here. Were you set up or something?”

I was afraid this was coming. “No… I knew what I w-was signing up for. I was just too excited by the idea of doin’ somethin’ bad that I was blinded by it. I robbed a bank, you see.”

I relished the look of surprise that came across Kenny’s face a little too much. “Seriously? Shit, man! You’re more badass than I thought!”

And I went on to tell him of my grand exploits with Dougie. It wasn’t like telling the others; Kenny was so animated and into my recount of all that I did to get here that I didn’t even realize we had wandered off into the library at some point. It was like he was living an exciting life through my stories- and he probably was at the very least trying. I had no idea what was running through his mind, especially now that I knew he thought he’d be stuck here forever.

“So, I hate to cut this short, but I have to be getting to work in a few. If you get bored- ‘cause you will since I won’t be there- you should read the book on my table called Portofino. It’s pretty good. Anyway, I’ll talk to you once I get off in a couple hours, Butters.” Kenny gave me his signature wink and I gave him a small wave as he disappeared behind a bookcase, walking backwards in a goofy manner so he could maintain a smile with me a little while longer. Despite his secretiveness, I liked him. He seemed like one of the few genuine people here.

But I really wanted to know what he did that deserved a life sentence. And how he managed to escape so often. It was really eating at me. Shoving these thoughts aside, I walked out of the library and into the biting cold of the outside. I was surprised I hadn’t noticed it before, but then again, I had been with Kenny. And Kenny seems to make things fade away to unimportance around him. 

Sighing to myself, I set off back to the main building to get something to eat from the cafeteria since lunch was just around the corner. Instead of sitting there in the mostly empty commons, I decided to take an apple and a cup of hot green tea with me to our room. When I got back, I did as Kenny had suggested and carefully picked up his copy of Portofino, which was apparently a little town by the sea in Italy. The book was yellowing and worn out, but I found that it just added to its charm. At first, I was a little uncertain as to whether or not this book would be something I’d actually enjoy, but it was pretty humorous and, even more surprising, the family life of the main character was something that struck me pretty deeply. He was raised in a rigid, strictly religious lifestyle in a city of pure paradise, and in one scene his mother actually prayed in a restaurant for a whole hour before letting them eat their cold dinner. My family was pretty harsh too, but this was just ridiculous. 

I managed to get through about half of the book before I dozed off on top of my bed. But I was awoken pretty quickly by something, and slid off my bed in alarm. I thought someone had opened either Kenny or my drawer, but a quick scan around the room assured me that I was simply paranoid. I let my eyes close once again as I thought about my new life here.

Befriending Kenny really did put my mind at ease- more than I originally gave him credit for. Sure, it had only been a couple of hours, but he just made everything seem less terrible. Who would’ve thought I’d go to prison and wind up meeting someone as incredible as him?

I really did like Kenny.

That’s why I was pretty mad when I opened my eyes again and noticed someone going through his things.

“W-What are you doing, Eric?!” I shrieked, ripping out one of Kenny’s books from his hands before he could realize I had woken up.

“I’m just looking! Christ, you’re a touchy one aren’t you, Stotch?” Cartman sneered. “Which is why you’re in the slammer, I guess. Just couldn’t keep your hands to yourself! Naughty, naughty.” He tsked and wiggled his big fat finger in front of my face teasingly. “You of all people should appreciate me digging through his stuff. So what, are you his little prag now too?”

I blinked in confusion. “Prag?”

“Yeah. Prag. Prison-fag. Means you’re his fuck toy.” Eric clarified, as if this was the most basic knowledge in the world. “Seriously, you live under a rock.”

“I’m n-not his prag, Eric.” I stated as firmly as I could, but he only snorted.

“Are you sure about that?”

“I think I’d know.” I said cheekily, proud that I was standing up to him, even in the smallest way.

“Well, good. I could use a new one.”

...Oh.

I backpedaled. “Y-You know, actually, I think you better get out of here. I, uh, heard my prison number get called up front. They’re probably gonna give me a sh-shot if I don’t go.”

“Bullshit.” Eric grinned, his eyes firm as he stepped closer to me. “They haven’t called out numbers since two hours ago.”

“Oh, well… I-I think you j-just weren’t payin’ too much attention then! I coulda sworn they called me.”

“Take off your pants.”

It wasn’t a suggestion.

“Listen, Eric. I really d-don’t think this is a good idea!”

“Now, prag. Or I’ll do it for you.” Eric hissed through bared teeth, and I noticed in my blind panic that he was missing a few.

I made a mad dash to the door, but Eric seemed to know what I was going to do even before I did, and he caught me in his bulky arms.

“Hmph, the more you struggle, the more it’ll hurt you know.” He sneered, roughly tossing me onto my bed. Where was everyone?!

He brought his hands to the elastic of my pants before slipping them inside and groping me. That’s when the adrenaline set in. I kicked and screamed furiously, managing to land a swift blow to his kidney and escaping a few feet as he hunched over in pain. Unfortunately for me, he grasped my ankle with a determined firmness and held me in place. 

“Stop!” I gasped, hating him for putting me in this situation. I had given him the benefit of the doubt, and he threw it back in my face.

“You can’t order me around, prag! I own you now. And that also means I make all of your decisions for you. You don’t piss, you don’t eat, don’t sleep, don’t fuck, don’t cum unless I say you can. Understand?” Eric clarified for me, with all the calmness in the world. It was absolutely, gut-wrenchingly horrifying, and I wasn’t strong enough to push him off, to back up my refusal to let him control me. 

“G-Get away, Eric!” I screamed, biting his hand that was clenched around my shoulder. He cussed and hit me across the face, giving me a pretty good mark on my cheek.

“Understand?” He repeated again, tightening his grip on me.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Said a voice that must’ve surely come straight from heaven. I felt Eric’s grip on my body lessen considerably.

“McCormick.” He hissed, throwing me against the stone wall like a discarded rag doll. “I was just taking out your leftovers.”

“Leave him alone, you got that?” Kenny lowered his voice menacingly, and his face was darker than I had ever seen it.

“Why should I? He told me himself he wasn’t your prag.” Eric stated, standing a little taller as he approached Kenny.

Kenny’s eyes glittered dangerously. “Clearly I’ll need to train him better later. He’s mine, and starting today he’ll know it. Now get out of here before I send you back to the hole.”

“Fuck you, McCormick.” And then he was gone without another word.

“Are you okay?” Kenny words cut through the emptiness, and I started to absorb what had just happened. It was too much.

“Holy shit.” My voice cracked, and I leaned against the wall for support. “Did that really happen?”

That was a stupid question. “Yeah, it did. Be thankful I walked in before he could actually do anything. He won’t fuck you if he thinks he’ll piss me off.”

I looked up at him, bracing myself to ask another stupid, yet relevant question. “Am I really your... prag?”

Kenny let out a short, startling bought of laughter. “I’m not going to rape you, Butters. I swear to God. I’ll admit, I would’ve been quite open to taking advantage of you if this had happened four or so years ago, but I’m not like that anymore. But if Cartman thinks I am, he won’t touch you. At least, for a little while. He’s been after a new prag ever since his last one… expired.”

I didn’t need a stupid question to help me understand what that meant. 

“Kenny, why are you bein’ so n-nice to me?” I whispered, afraid my voice would waver if I had spoken any louder.

“I dunno. Maybe because I’m tired of pushing people away all the time.” He shrugged and smirked as he noticed the open book on my end table. “You started Portofino.”

“Yeah.” I replied, giving him the best shallow smile I could muster. “It’s pretty addicting. Makes me wish I was out of prison too. I’ve never been to Europe before.”

“Neither have I.” Kenny’s smile seemed to get a little bittersweet.

We were silent for a bit- it was just he and I on top of my bed, relaxing in the cooling quiet.

“Why did you end up in prison, Kenny?” I asked softly, looking over at him.

He seemed to lock away a part of himself at my question. “It’s not a very fun story, Butters. I’ll tell it to you eventually, I promise. But you just almost lost you anal virginity to a fatass. Well, assuming you’re an ass virgin.” He raised his eyebrows questioningly, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Wouldn’t you like to know!” I teased, flicking him lightly on the forehead. I was thankful his forehead wasn’t too big or too small- it was just right. Which was kind of odd to think about, really.

“Alright Butters, tell me the truth. How far have you gone with someone before?” Kenny inquired, mock seductively placing his hands on the mattress on either side of my waist, so we were face-to-face.

“Oh, uh.. Well…” I colored up, feeling intensely out of place. “O-One time when I was drunk I gave Dougie a blowjob. Things were pretty awkward after that…”

Kenny’s eyes widened in surprise. “So you are into guys, huh? Hah! I totally called it!”

“H-Hey! I don’t seem THAT gay, do I?” I asked nervously. 

“Not at all, Buttercup! Just enough for me to notice.” There was that wink again. God, why did he have to do that so much? “Hey we should probably get ready for dinner. Tonight’s apple fritter night, and I refuse to miss out on that.”

I chuckled and took the hand he offered as support for getting off of my bed. I noticed, for the first time, the tattoos on the underside of his right arm. They were simple tallies, perhaps hundreds of fives crossed out over and over all up his wrist to where his skin folded at the elbow. It was ominous.

“What’re those for?” I asked innocently, nodding at his arm.

Kenny looked away rather sheepishly. “It’s kind of a weird story.”

Noting that he seemed uncomfortable, I didn’t press the issue further. But even so, the countless tallies danced and swarmed in my mind, like hauntingly unwanted musical notes on a sheet of paper. We walked together to the cafeteria and I paused, not sure whether or not I should follow Kenny or chance sitting by Firkle, Michael, and Pete again. I kind of missed our companionship, however flawed it may be.

My mind was made up when I saw Cartman sitting with them, however, and I followed Kenny to the food line.

“Oh, hey Stotch. What’s happening?” Donovan came up behind us in line, grinning ear to ear. He seemed to be adjusting well. 

“N-Nothing much. I haven’t seen you around lately, Donovan. Whatcha been up to?” I asked politely, since it seemed like Clyde was in the mood to chat.

“I kinda have a problem, actually. See, I want to work in the kitchen, but I don’t want anyone to know how bad I suck at making food. So I guess I want to work in the kitchen without actually working in the kitchen at all.” Clyde laughed, hearing how stupid he sounded. “That doesn’t make much sense, does it?”

“Well,” I began. “You could always do cleaning duty or something. I personally love cooking, but I hate having to put away the dishes and clean my messes. Plus, people always need to mop up cafeteria floors. They’re permanently filthy.”

“You know, you might actually be on to something Stotch! I’ll check the list to see if they have anything like that.”

Oh shit. I had forgotten about that. I needed to get signed up too before the day was done.

“Why are you so interested in the kitchen?” Kenny spoke up, startling both Clyde and I slightly.

“Ahh, well… I dunno. Never worked in a kitchen before.” He grumbled.

“Have you met the staff?”

Clyde seemed to get a little flushed. “Kind of.”

“Do you like them?” I asked curiously, still a little nervous by what Kenny had told me about that Tweak fellow.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” Clyde roared, scaring the living shit out of Kenny and I. In fact, I nearly pissed my pants. I shouldn’t have underestimated the man who had taken a naked road trip.

“N-Nothing! I’ve j-just been interested in cooking here an’ was worried they w-wouldn’t be very friendly is all!” I cried.

“Oh. Uh, sorry about that. Just, ah, overreacting a little.” Clyde looked away in embarrassment, making me seriously wonder just what the heck was wrong with him. “They’re fine. Nice people. But not that creepy too-nice. Just nice.”

I looked over at Kenny, who was desperately trying to hide his silent laughter from Clyde. Now I was even more confused. The line shifted, and suddenly it was Kenny’s turn to get a tray. As we went through the food stations, I made eye-contact with the handsome man from the night before. His sharp eyes flicked from mine to Clyde, and he seemed to scowl slightly when Clyde gave him his signature lop-sided grin. The man’s attention went back to Kenny’s tray, and he looked up to give Kenny a friendly nod. And then he gave Kenny an extra scoop of mashed potatoes before sending him off.

I was slightly confused. This man seemed to take his job here in prison very seriously. Why would he violate the 2,700 calorie per day diet laid out for them? I let Kenny catch me looking at his tray pointedly so he would give me an answer.

“Jealous?” He laughed. “I did him a favor back when he first got here. Ever since then, I’ve been given extra helpings as a way of payment. Like I said before, Butters, nothing here is free.”

Was that some kind of warning?

“Hey, mind if I sit with you guys?” Clyde asked coming around the line to follow us. Kenny gave him a short nod of approval before we slid down in an empty table. We sat around eating for a while, talking about our first full day in prison and how surreal everything felt. I learned that Clyde had gotten Token as a roommate and that they were seeming to get off on the right foot so far. I reminded Clyde that we still had to go sign up for work before the end of the day, and after dinner we said goodbye to Kenny and made our way to Miss Testaburger’s office.

The sign up sheets were on her desk and I took moment to really consider other options. Frankly, there were a lot more than I thought there would be, despite whatever they had promised us in the orientation. Gardening, making clothes, education, library, cleaning, kitchen duty… AIDS Wards. Nope. Definitely not that. Kitchen it is. I scribbled down my name and left with Clyde. A short while later, we parted ways in the hallway.

I paused to read which Dorm area I was in and realized much to my dismay that I had skipped A and had went all the way to B already. I was such a ditz sometimes. I backtracked and abruptly smacked straight into Thorn, who was directly behind me. I stumbled and fell, but he managed to regain his footing.

“Oh! I’m so sorry Thorn!” I cried, a seed of worry flourishing in my very core.

“How…” He whispered, staring directly down at the floor and almost… shaking?

“...How…. how… DARE you!” He then stood above me, curling his fingers into sharp bony fists and bringing his fiery eyes to my own. “Do you know who I AM?” Suddenly, his face was a mere inch away from my own and I felt his hot angry breath.

I was on the verge of another apology when I felt it; Thorne had thrust up his knuckles to crack against my jaw in a powerful right-hook. The raw energy behind it sent me sprawling back several feet.

I gasped and spat blood on the floor. There were no guards around, no anybody. It was just me and him, just like how it was with Eric. Suddenly, something in me just snapped. I was sick of being the weak one. I was always the weak one. So I flew at the dark-haired man with a fury in me I never felt before and grabbed a fistful of that hair of his. And I just pulled. And kept pulling, until a chunk of it ripped out. I think we were both pretty shocked, but instead of stopping I went in for another generous amount and repeated it. He was screaming, I was screaming, and then I felt arms underneath my own pulling me off of the bloody man.

“Alright, Stotch. That’s quite enough!” Stan yelled over the screeches, and I realized that they were mostly my own. “Just what the hell happened here?”

“I.. I bumped into h-him on accident and he h-hit me.” I replied as steadily as I could, feeling like a fourth grader in a principal’s office.

“You know what this means, right?” Stan began, filling me with a sense of dread.

“Wait. Stan, he’s with me.” Aw, geez. How come Kenny always managed to show up to rescue me at just the right time? 

Stan looked over at the rugged blonde and unclenched his jaw. “... I’ll give you a warning this time, Stotch. But if I see you in another fight, you’re headed straight to the hole, understand?”

“Y-Yes sir.”

“Alright. Thorn, let’s get you to the nurse’s office and have a look at that scalp. Seems pretty raw.” I heard a low hiss before Stan dragged him off.

I turned to Kenny with a small pout. “How come you have so many connections, huh?”

He sighed. “I have a way with people. I’m just too sexy most of the time.”

“Yeah, that’s it.” I snorted. 

“But really, of all the people you could’ve bumped into! It just had to be the Antichrist.” Kenny rolled his eyes and walked me back to our cubicle. “He literally has deluded himself into thinking he is the Antichrist. Did you know that?”

I gaped. Was everyone here this dramatic? “N-No! What the hell is with this place? Are all prisons like this?!”

“Dunno. I’ll let you know if I ever find out. But hey, I’ve gotta say, I’m pretty impressed with how you scalped him. If Stan hadn’t of been there, you would’ve been good to go without my help. Just a little while ago you were letting Cartman smack you around- now you’ve made his favorite lackey a little less pretty. Congrats dude.” Kenny flopped onto his bed once we got back in our room, and gave me his best ‘join me and let’s cuddle’ face. I almost caved.

“Thanks, but now I kinda feel a little bad about it.”

“He would’ve done the same to you, trust me. While Tweak got over his crazy with the proper medication, Thorn is fifty shades of insane. There’s no telling what he would’ve done to you. I know you seem to have a death wish, but try NOT to fuck with the son of Satan. Otherwise, I’m putting you on suicide watch.” Kenny rolled around on his bed and groaned, seemingly uncomfortable just as the lights turned off, signaling we should be in our respective cubicles. Can’t say I didn’t have a similar problem with my own bed- these springs were a fucking nightmare.

“I’ll try my best not to die within my first week of being here.” I stated a little too humorlessly- I was quickly learning that constant humor was how you survived here. Or at least that was how Kenny survived. Cartman seemed to survive by causing fear and controlling people. I wondered vaguely what way I would find.

“Just so you know.” Kenny mumbled, sleep grazing his voice. “If you wake up and I have somehow managed to get into your crappy little bed with you… that’s totally normal. In fact, I sleep walk frequently.”

“Bullcrap.” I smiled softly, knowing he couldn’t see my face. “You just want an excuse to get into bed with me.”

“Who wouldn’t?” He muttered, and a few moments later I heard a quiet snore. My rather pointless smile doesn’t leave my face until I’ve fallen into unconsciousness too.


	3. Cut

‘I own you now. And that also means I make all of your decisions for you. You don’t piss, you don’t eat, don’t sleep, don’t fuck, don’t cum unless I say you can.’ 

“Butterscotch? Butters?”

I woke shaking and feeling a clammy cold sweat clinging to my skin. Kenny was standing over me with a worried look on his face.

“Dude, are you okay? You were screaming.”

“W-What? I was? Oh gosh, I’m sorry Kenny.” I muttered, rolling off my uncomfortable bed to stand gracelessly. Ah, great. I had another kink in my neck. “I tend to do that sometimes. It’s normal, I swear.”

“Well, you scared the ever-loving shit outta me. C’mon, it’s already five. Might as well hit the showers before the prag owners wake up.” Kenny threw a towel onto his shoulder and grabbed his ditty bag before strutting out of our cubicle. I grabbed my own belongings and followed, lightly jogging just enough to catch up (but not enough to get tazed or shot). We walked to the showers together and I borrowed some shampoo from him. Hopefully today at commissary I could get some of my own. A better bar of soap wouldn’t kill me either.

I couldn’t help but watch in the corner of my eye as Kenny tore off his clothes before strutting into a stall. He either had been in here for far too long or he never really possessed any modesty to begin with- his stride was far too confident for someone stripped to his bare minimum. He caught me staring, and openly chuckled as I reddened in embarrassment. 

Before turning on the nozzle, he glanced back at me over-dramatically, already knowing I’d still be watching him, before addressing me in the most suggestively cocky tone. “You know, it’d be a lot easier rinsing off if you joined me in here.”

Stammering, I replied as best I could. “I-I, golly, I don’t know if th-that’s a good idea, Ken.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. I wasn’t too good at determining, but it was probably a very sarcastic expression. “Oh? And why’s that? I think it’s a great idea!”

“B-But when the other f-fellas walk in…”

“Exactly! It’d look like I really DID make you my prag. Otherwise, Cartman might suspect that I was just throwing you a bone. He’d think I was going soft.” He practically purred in response. Nothing is free here… Was Kenny really the exception after all?

After briefly weighing my options, I gave a defeated sigh and removed my shirt. Better Kenny than Eric. With a terrible sense of dread, I realized as I thumbed the hem of my pants that I had the beginnings of an erection. Kenny would most certainly notice and poke fun at me for it.

“Uh… Y-You know, I… I l-left somethin’ at the Dorm. I’ll go g-grab it real fast!” I scurried for the door, feeling like a silly grade schooler.

“Hang on, what’d you forget?” He asked me with a small, slightly adorable pout that stopped me in my tracks. He looked like a child that didn’t get what he wanted. 

“J-Just… Some soap.”

“It’s right there.” Kenny pointed, and I was mortified to see my cruddy bar soap quite obviously visible by my other stuff.

“O-Oh, yeah. But that’s n-not the good one!”

“You’re in prison, honey.” Kenny smirked. “We don’t have designer soap bars in the shape of seashells. And I KNOW that’s the only bar you’ve got. So why are you bullshitting me? Got something to hide?”

Gosh darn that wink of his. Might as well come clean if he’s just going to keep on acting like that. “Well… y-yeah.” I admitted, shyly looking down at my feet as I kicked off my shoes and socks.

“Ho! I knew it! You’ve got a boner, huh?” Why was he so animated about this?!

“O-Only ‘cause it’s the mornin’! I-I swear!” 

“No need to get so riled up, Buttercup. Not that I mind…” Kenny gave me an airy chuckle. “Want me to help you take off your pants if it’s that challenging?”

“Aw heck no! That’d make it worse!” I cried, spinning around so I couldn’t see him naked anymore. God, why did I have to be gay? I could tell that my next 1,000 or so days here stripping around Kenny and the other men would be pretty taxing.

“You find me that attractive, huh?” Kenny hummed, closer to me than before. I was about to whirl around, but was abruptly stopped as I felt Kenny’s lean arms snake around my bare torso from behind and rest on my stomach.

“W-Well… I mean… y-you’re a pretty n-nice lookin’ g-guy…” I hated myself for stammering.

“Hmm.” I felt weak as Kenny’s thumbs worked down into my pants, serving as a kind of hook for keeping me in place. Something extremely revealing was poking me in my general rear-end area that was making me blush scarlet, but it also made me feel a little better about my own hard-on. At least I wasn’t alone. I couldn’t help but tremble as he spoke again in a lowered voice directly next to my ear. “No shame in swinging for the same team. Especially in prison. Just don’t tell anyone you’re gay. Luckily, some other newbie had the misfortune of making that mistake before I did, back when I first got here. Weirdly enough, prag masters’ll beat you for being a fag, but still fuck you in the ass. It’s counter-productive if you ask me.”

I blinked in shock. “You’re gay too?”

“Not really.” He gave me a crooked grin. “Bisexual. Although, I will admit that I sometimes indulged in the occasional Moulin Rouge binge.”

He began to kneel and quickly took my pants with him. I let out a sharp gasp as my arousal was exposed to the cool morning air. I stepped out of my pants legs, accepting my humiliating fate, and turned around to face him. I wasn’t surprised when his gaze immediately went south. 

“Woah. I had my doubts, I’ll admit, but you’ve got a pretty impressive length.” Kenny whispered seductively, looking at me with a hungry expression. His gaze flicked down again and he smirked at my response. “C’mere, let’s take a shower already. The prag masters’ll be here any minute.”

I followed him nervously into his stall, and as soon as I entered the cramped tiled area he pinned me against the wall a little roughly. I gasped in surprise but he merely took his bar of soap (which I was slightly envious of, since it was of much better quality than my own), lathered it, and pressed it directly on to my chest. He used his palms to work the soap across my abdomen and muscles, pausing only to get more soap on his hands before continuing. He washed my arms, torso, thighs and calves, and gave me a mischievous look before assaulting my bum. I shrieked in surprise and laughed as he gave me a very sassy eye-roll. I liked how I could be around Kenny without either of us speaking a word and still easily maintain a conversation in spite of that. It was just so natural and oddly comforting. I thought he would probably grant me the decency of not cleaning my genitals, but I was mistaken. He slicked both of his hands with suds before giving me a ‘prepare yourself’ grin and taking my still-rather-hard length in his grip. I gasped at the sudden attention and at his audacity, but I wasn’t actually as offended as I probably should’ve been. What’s more- when his turn for a thorough washing came along, I reciprocated. We washed our hair together with Kenny’s shampoo (which contained about as much as a hotel’s free shampoo & conditioner bottle). After we were both finished he leaned in to whisper, “Ready to put on the show of your life?”

I gave him an imploring look and was about to question him, but before I could the bathroom door creaked open as if on cue. Kenny gave me a wild look and placed an arm against my chest, and, without warning, he snaked his fingers through my wet hair and pulled my mouth closer to his. A few tense moments passed where we just simply looked at each other. It wasn’t creepy or intimidating, it was just a look of open, innocent curiosity. Finally, he seemed to give me a look that asked ‘Is this okay?’ and I responded by briefly glancing down at his lips and then back at him. It was a universal, understood acceptance and he took my face in the palms of his hands before leaning in and kissing me softly. 

Now I had kissed several people in my time- one was even a woman. I’d thought I was in love before. But nothing even remotely matched up to what kissing Kenny felt like. He wasn’t prodding or insistent, but rather he let me go at my own pace. His lips were slightly chapped as they roamed soothingly around mine, and after a while I let him take things at his own speed rather than mine. Kenny started out sweet, but slowly asked for more and more, which I was perfectly fine obliging to. Pretty soon he was biting my lower lip, asking for permission I also wasn’t about to deny from him. His tongue was surprisingly cool when it slid into my mouth, and I let him explore a while before I started to reciprocate. Soon enough, I was the one who was now pushing him against the wall- although he easily flipped me back in my place when the footsteps got closer. But I wasn’t paying any mind to those. I was still adjusting to the wave of emotions that hit me through this small gesture in the middle of an expressionless, filthy shower room. This man, who seemed so content and so isolated, was treating me like someone special- someone important, even. 

This same man growled and parted from me long enough for him to sink his teeth into the tender flesh on my neck, causing me to groan. “Kenny…” I breathed, feeling a heavy lust engulf me as he started traveling down to my shoulder blade. 

“Shh,” He mouthed. “Call me McCormick for right now. It’s more respectful.”

I didn’t like the idea of using his last name again (it seemed so formal now), so I opted for staying silent. As much as I enjoyed him exploring and marking up my body, I was beginning to really need some sort of friction. I caught Kenny’s attention and gave him my best imploring look until he chuckled, despite being a little out of breath. Seeming not to get my hint, I pulled him up to me once again and kissed him, pressing my body against him until he got the hint and started grinding his hips against mine. Satisfied, I let out a throaty moan.

“Who’s there?”

My eyes widened and I gave Kenny a panicked look. He just smiled and initiated another kiss, which quickly got very heated once again despite my alarm.

“What the fuck… Aww, Christ!” 

Oh. Just Clyde.

It really was a shame that there were no shower curtains- this was becoming nothing short of a exhibition teaser. At least Kenny didn’t seem to mind too much. In fact, he seemed to be laying it on pretty thick now, even allowing a fearless hand to stroke my inner thigh suggestively. He must have some pretty strange kinks.

“Seriously, do you have to do that here?!” Clyde cried, smacking a hand across his embarrassed face. 

“...F-Fuck off, Donovan… Ahh…” Kenny had bit my earlobe.

Both he and Clyde seemed pretty startled to hear me cuss so freely, but I chose to ignore their surprised expressions as a fourth person tromped in.

Eric.

Before he could spot us, I fell to my knees in a bit of a blind panic and grabbed Kenny’s throbbing cock, earning a shocked gasp from the blonde man. Clyde’s jaw dropped to the floor as I opened my mouth and engulfed Kenny’s member. 

“Holy fucking shit! Alright, wow, I’m out.” Clyde sped to the other end of the showers as if he were possessed. 

“Butters… Ngh, you didn’t have… to…” Kenny was panting, and this was making my dick ache pretty painfully.

I separated with Kenny’s cock just long enough to mumble a quick “Shh!” before going back to my task at hand. I bobbed my head to a hurried rhythm, since we needed to look as into it as possible by the time the beefy man got here.

“Ah… Hey, Buttercup… If-If you keep that up I’m going to…” Kenny broke off with a gasp as he came into my mouth. Despite doing this before, I’d never managed to get used to the taste of semen. It was one of those bitter, distinct flavors that sticks with you, almost similar to that of strong spoiled beer. 

Suddenly a hand raked through my hair before clenching it firmly and pulling my face off of Kenny’s junk. I gasped and yelled as I was dragged mercilessly a few feet away.

“Are you being seriously right now? You get Thorn thrown in the hole and now this? Are you really fucking with me this early in the morning?”

Frankly, I should’ve anticipated this.

“Actually, he’s fucking with me.” Kenny snickered, grabbing his balled up clothes while maintaining a cautious glare with the large man. I really wish he’d let go of my hair already.

“This isn’t over, McCormick. This fag’s going to mine one way or another. You’ll see.” He threw me against the side of the shower stall, and my rib cage clanged painfully against the tile as he stormed off, presumably to rinse off. 

“What a tool.” Kenny spit on the floor disdainfully before tossing my shirt to me. I expected him to treat me a little differently since I gave him a blowjob and all, but he really didn’t seem that shaken. Or to even acknowledge it. It was pretty disarming. I stood with a wince and changed back into my clothes along side him, glad that my erection seemed to have waned with that encounter. 

Breakfast was painfully slow, and to top it off, Kenny seemed a little shaken. He chatted normally with Clyde and I, but even so I wondered if he was a little agitated. I couldn’t help but think our sudden intimacy was the cause for it.

Kenny snuck off to the library right after breakfast much to my dismay, so I thought I’d check in with the main office to see when I’d start working. 

“Now, of course. You’re working the kitchens, so it’s an everyday kind of job. Get over there now before Tucker throws another one of his hissy fits.” Miss Testaburger clicked her pen and frowned slightly, looking over a document of some sort. As an afterthought, I concluded that being the warden of a prison would be the most taxing job on the face of the earth.

“Who’s Tucker?” I asked, almost as distracted as her. That name sounded familiar for some reason. I think Kenny had mentioned he was an ex-cop of some sort.

“He arguably runs the kitchens. That’s actually Tweek Tweak’s job, but they seem to have a joint leadership going on. As long as they aren’t causing any trouble or making bodies appear, I don’t mind much.” She looked up at the clock on the wall. “I have a meeting in a couple minutes, so you need to clear out. Take care of yourself, Stotch.”

“A-Alright. Thanks.” 

I peeled off my tan jacket as I entered the cafeteria once again and made my way to the kitchen area. Several faces turned to me as I swung open the door.

“Who the fuck are you, and what are you doing here?” Said the handsome dark-haired man from before. He had a very dry tone and a cross expression.

“I-I’m Stotch. I’ll be working here w-with you fellas.” I explained as briefly as I could, sensing that I should pick my words very carefully with him. I looked around the room and noticed two other blondes: one was the man-boy I had met before, Pirrup, and the other was someone I had never seen before. He had crazy hair spiking out in several directions and wild cerulean eyes that seemed a little frantic. I noticed that every so often one or two of his muscles would twitch at random. No… I have seen him before. He was that man from the other day that licked Mr. Marsh’s hand.

“Ah, you must be the other replacement then. I’m Tucker, and this here is Tweek.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the wild-looking man. So this was Tweak. He didn’t seem as alright as Kenny had promised me he was. I fumbled with my knuckles nervously. “The other one doesn’t matter much.” Pirrup seemed like he was about to object, but held his tongue. As I looked closer, he seemed awful. I knew I already had some nasty bruising forming from both Eric and Thorn, but he looked far worse. One eye had a sickly purple shadow and was bloodshot, while a nasty pile of red marks were flowering across his cheek and lower jaw. They seemed fresh. 

My attention snapped to Tweak as he suddenly and rather violently leaped in front of my face and asked me, “Do… Do you have any tits?!”

“Umm… N-Not really… I mean, I have ni-nipples.” I stammered, utterly confused and alarmed.

“Smartass. He means to ask if you have any drugs. Most the people coming in here expect to get really big titties, since we get shipments from the outside. Just so you know,” Tucker’s voice lowered menacingly. “If you’re a tit man, we’re gonna have some problems here. We’ve been clean for two whole weeks, and no fuck like you is gonna stroll in here and screw with our winning streak.”

“I-I promise, I’m not into drugs… Tits. W-Whatever they’re called.” I said as calmly as I could as Tweak retreated slowly. 

“Oh yeah? We’ll see about that. Ain’t nobody here hasn’t had their hands on some heroin before. Anyway, enough about tits. Tonight’s spaghetti night. How much experience do you have with pasta?” Tucker asked me, folding his arms around his chest.

I couldn’t help a small smirk. “Quite a bit.”

“Good. You can help with the noodles then, when the time comes. For now, we’ll get lunch ready.” He informed me, looking over at Tweak. 

“Lunch’s a lot more stressful.” Tweak cut in, turning his full attention to me. “First, we set out some fruit and make some PB & J for the older people, since they don’t work or nothing. But just in case, we make a lot of extras. Because, because newbies are in the cafeteria sometimes. And it’d be disastrous if we didn’t have food for them! We also make the meals for the other… other inmates working, and we have to go pass those out. It’s just really stressful, ‘cause... what if we forgot someone’s lunch?! Then they’d have no food while they’re doing their job! They could faint or come beat us up or shit in our beds! I’d hate to come to a room after a full day’s work and… and jump into a bed with shit in it!” Tweak cried, grabbing my shoulders passionately and shaking me back and forth. I wasn’t exactly comfortable with this, but I was also terrified of stopping him.

“Tweek. TWEEK. Calm the fuck down.” Tucker boomed, snatching Tweak’s arms and dragging him off of me. “Sorry. He’s been in the hole for a little too long.”

“‘Cause of tits.” Tweak finished, answering my unheard question. “The withdrawals… And the… the bread’s over here. Start, start unwrapping it.”

Oh. So he was a druggie? I suppose that explained a lot.

I followed him over with Pirrup and began to do just that, placing stacks of white sandwich bread on the kitchen counter. Tweak just watched us for a few minutes, shaking and placing his fingertips together nervously, before he too began to get to work by getting out numerous jars of peanut butter and jelly. Tucker disappeared in the back room for a while before emerging again with several boxes stacked dangerously high of oranges. His muscles rippled with ease as he slammed them on the other end of the table and began slicing them in half with a kitchen knife. I came to the uncomfortable realization that even though there was a guard standing just beside the doorway, I could easily get hospitalized with a knife that large. And Tucker seemed like a pretty gritty man, who could potentially be capable of anything. I calmed myself with the thought that Kenny trusted him, so he must at least be a somewhat decent man. 

We went on working in relative silence, and every so often I’d look up and make eye contact with Pirrup each time he would hand me another loaf of unwrapped bread. Finally he broke the silence. “I would appreciate if you didn’t look at me like that.”

I was appalled. “L-Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to figure me out. Like you think I’m here because of unbecoming, delinquent actions.” Pirrup sniffed, shucking a loaf of it’s plastic bag.

Tucker let out a humorless chuckle. “Don’t flatter yourself, prag. You’re in prison just like the rest of us.”

“Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean I was fully in the wrong!” Pirrup exclaimed, slamming his loaf of bread down onto the metal table, scowling as several slices flew into the air. “I did absolutely nothing wrong!”

“Then why are you here?” Tucker snapped, growing tired of Pirrup’s rant. 

“I was just trying to save the environment!”

There was a long silence. Tucker seemed to be gathering his sanity for an appropriate response to that. I could hardly blame him.

“I have heard a lot of guilty men try to lie about their innocence before, but that excuse has to be the most retardedest of them all. You sound like a fucked up five year old pussy trying to win a shitting beauty pageant. ‘I was just trying to save the environment!’ What does that even MEAN?” Craig snapped, slapping his kitchen knife down on an orange harshly, cutting it clean through loudly.

“Exactly that! Being an orphan, I had never heard of the dangers of global warming until just recently, after I got a job and had a place to live with a TV. I joined several movements and protests, but we just weren’t getting ANYWHERE. People knew of global warming and the negative impact they were making, but they just refused to see the bigger picture outside of their electricity and precious automobiles. I took up a humble Amish lifestyle, hoping to make as big of a difference as I could, recycling every single day, but it never felt like it was enough. I had to force people to understand the harm their wastefulness was causing. So I started slashing car tires and demolishing power lines as often as I could. Unfortunately, I was caught much too soon before I could take out all of Denver’s electricity.” Pirrup sighed wistfully, gathering up loose bread slices.

“Look, Pirrup-” Tucker began.

“My name is Phillip.”

“Look, Pip-” 

“Why won’t you just call me Phillip?”

“Because I hate you. Anyway-”

“But wh-”

“JUST SHUT YOUR GODDAMN COCKSUCKING MOUTH!” Tucker bellowed, slamming his knife down yet again in a fit of excitement. There was a nasty gash in the cutting board now.

“...”

“Better. Now I was going to say that you’re a total vagina. And that you’re entire arrest is faggy enough to make my eyes bleed. I don’t want you in here if you’re going to be a gaywad. Go work for electrical if you have such a boner for it.” Tucker dismissed, turning to Tweak to give him a ‘Can You Believe This?’ look.

Pip looked as if he were going to say something more, but right then the kitchen door swung open and in came Clyde, who looked like he had just killed a lion with nothing but his own two hands and the beaten mop he was clenching. I watched as Tucker gave him a half-hearted scowl.

“Oh, it’s you again. Don’t tell me you’re working in the kitchen too.” Tucker sighed through gritted teeth, spitting over his shoulder at his unfortunate luck.

Clyde let out a nervous laugh. “No, no nothing like that. I clean the cafeteria now. But I finished early, so I thought I’d come see if you needed any help.”

“What? It’s not even lunchtime yet and you’ve claimed to have already mopped the entire cafeteria? You must’ve done a crap job of it.” With a whirl of his ‘white’ apron, Tucker spun around Clyde and out the door, seemingly concerned with the fate of his lunchroom floors. With a twisted frown, Clyde followed him out.

I turned back to my task only to gasp in shock. Tweak was right next to me, only inches away. I hadn’t even noticed him move from the oranges to us, but looking over my shoulder confirmed that they had all been cut neatly into slices and placed in a large, assumingly sanitary, plastic bin. He was now over here fiddling with a jar of peanut butter.

“You know, Craig doesn’t usually let me handle condiments. But- but I’m fine with peanut butter. And jelly.” Tweak explained, swirling a knife into the jar pensively. We only had plastic cutting knives apart from Tucker’s set of kitchen cutting knives. They’d have to serve as a substitute for butter knives.

“Um, w-why?” I asked, not really sure if I wanted to hear the reason.

“Really, it’s only salt that’s the problem. To get rid of the Devil.” He clarified, effectively confusing me further. When he went to get more peanut butter, Pip whispered to me.

“Tweak’s very superstitious, it would seem. He follows silly little rituals like tossing salt over his shoulder.”

“What does that even do?” I asked, suddenly feeling very exhausted.

“If the Devil truly sits on your shoulder, the salt is supposed to get in his eyes and make him leave. Tucker told me in private not to let Tweak use up all of our seasoning.” 

I didn’t even know how to begin to respond to that, so I kept my mouth shut and waited for Tweak to return with the box of peanut butter. Outside, we could hear Tucker kicking around tables and swearing. Another minute passed before the two men returned; Tucker looked as mad as a hive of bees and Clyde wore a triumphant smile.

“I told you it was spotless.” He sang, apparently pleased with Tucker’s irritation.

“Not another word, Donovan. Or I’ll claw your fucking eyes out.”

“So I suppose I can clean your dishes then?”

“Those were done this morning.”

“Then how may I be of service, my lord?”

Tucker fumed, marching around us to the pantry and keeping his eyes set in a straight angry line before him. He snatched up a large sack of what appeared to be uncooked white rice before returning swiftly to Clyde and dropping the bag at his feet.

“I want you to count every grain of rice until you can give me a final number. If you drop a single one on the floor, I’ll pay the moulies to off you, got it?” He turned his back dismissively to Clyde before walking off. “And next time you finish your job early, I’ll have you count the pasta.”

“Moulies, huh? Strange. You don’t look that Italian to me.” Clyde chuckled, grabbing the ends of the rice sack before tearing into it. Tucker ignored his observation and turned his attention back to us. We spent minutes, hours even, making sandwiches and plating oranges. By the time lunch rolled around, we had completely finished and were carting off sandwiches by means of rickety little trolleys. 

Thinking I could say hello to Kenny and make our supposed awkward phase a little less… awkward, I volunteered to run the sandwiches up to the library. Since it was pretty out of the way and a general hassle to get to, no one was too disappointed by my proposal (although Tucker didn’t look too pleased to be left alone with Clyde, who was almost halfway done with his sack despite a few miscounts. He seemed to take his bullshit pastime surprisingly seriously). So I trekked over in search of my blonde friend biting back stabs of nervousness along the way. After a few pit stops at several other inmate work stations, I finally managed to pull the sandwich trolley over to the library’s front doors. It was a bit of an unnecessary hassle getting it through, but I was able to manage and station it next to the library desk. I watched the few inmates that worked here line up, and was pleased to see Kenny emerge from behind a packed bookshelf. He gave me a small grin when he saw me before he got in the back of the line directly behind Firkle. When it was his turn to get lunch, he winked at me and waited politely for me to gather my things. 

“So, how’s kitchen duty suiting you?” He asked, taking a bite of his sandwich. He eyed my apron and gave me a mischievous smirk. “I could get used to you catering to me in that.”

I rolled my eyes playfully at him. “I like it so far. The people are nice enough and it’s a good break from… w-well, everything.”

“Good. It’s important to have a low-key job here. It’s stressful enough as it is.” Kenny took a slice of his orange and stuck it in his mouth childishly, giving me an orange peel smile as I chuckled. 

“Oh hey, once you get your break, come back over here and I’ll show you how the commissary system works. Commissary’s the one thing most people here look forward to. Aside from movie night, of course.” Kenny told me as he finished up his lunch.

That’s right. Movie night was every Sunday. The only people that actually worked on Sundays were in kitchen duty, but I didn’t mind. Catering to people was oddly comforting. 

“I think I’m done in about an hour or so.” I replied as I waited for the inmates working the library to put their dishes back on the cart. Once they were done, Kenny and I said our goodbyes and I went back out in the chilly Colorado air.

I rolled the cart to several cleaning places and had to double back once or twice on account of getting a little lost. Even though it was tedious and my hands were getting numb from the stinging cold, it helped me figure out where everything was. 

As I approached the gym area, I overheard two voices in some sort of an argument. 

“Valmer, I swear to God if you’re pussying out on me, I’ll break both your arms to match your legs. You explicitly TOLD me you and your moulies could take care of him. Are you telling me you lied to my face?!”

That was unmistakably Eric’s voice.

“J-J-Jesus Christ, Eric, f-first you tell me the only person you wanted offed was Tucker, and n-now you want M-McCormick too? I ONLY told you I could t-take care of Tucker, b-but I never said jackshit about McCormick. My gang’s got nothing against him, and everyone kn-knows he’s got connections. But T-Tucker’s trying to st-stop us from getting t-tits, and that’s all the reason I need to see him gone. E-Even so, there’s a huge risk going after him. C-Can’t say I f-feel too content having my guys off him. And, l-let’s face it, your rep isn’t wh-what it used to be. Tucker’s starting to l-look better than you.” I didn’t recognize this voice and couldn’t see who he was, but his words made my blood run cold. I froze in place and listened intently.

“YOU SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH VALMER!!” Eric screamed and I heard some rustling. “You gave me your word, goddamnit! If you start backing out, I’ll slit your fucking throat! I want Tucker and McCormick DEAD, understand?! If you can’t make that happen, I’ll get someone else to do it after I off you!”

There was a pause before this ‘Valmer’ man spoke again. “What do you even have against McCormick now, anyway? Did he spit in your face again or something?”

Eric scoffed and seemed to kick a nearby trash can. I dared not to even take a breath. “Hardly. We’re in a bit of a stand-off right now. He stole something of mine.”

“W-Well, Eric. That sounds like a wh-whole lot of your problem.” Valmer shot back. “You’ve got n-nothing I want for McCormick’s head. But even so, I d-do agree that Tucker’s becoming quite the problem. My cartel can’t run with him st-standing in the way. It was better w-when that blonde b-bitch of his was using. Now that h-he’s decided to become clean again, I’ve g-got a whole bunch of p-p-problems.”

I was so absorbed in what these two were saying that my grip on the rickety cart loosened, and it slipped past my fingers and went down a small hill obnoxiously loud. Frantic, I reached out for it in a blind panic and stopped it. It wasn’t for very long, but the silence that followed had my heart leap in my throat.

“And what the FUCK are you doing here?” Eric purred directly into my ear from behind. I jumped in horror and held back a scream. What… what was he going to do to me?

I turned to face him. “I-I.. umm… W-Would you like a s-sandwich?”

Eric looked at me in blunt surprise and chortled, eyes flicking from me to the cart I had. “So you’re in kitchen duty, huh? Didn’t see that coming. Well, Stotch. I’m disappointed in you. As much as I hate your prag owner, I still hate eavesdroppers more.”

I gasped in vain as I felt his thick hand grasp my throat and hold me up against the gym’s brick wall. I kicked and fought for oxygen, clawing and Eric’s hand until I pried some fingers off. He grinned at me in amusement before seeming to make up his mind and release me. I fell to the ground in a heap, taking several moments to gasp for air. 

“You owe me now, you know.” 

I looked up at him in anger before eyeing his companion, Valmer. He was the crippled man who had been so rude to me at lunch. I could barely handle my rage at this point and I could even feel my face reddening in hate and disgust. 

“What do you want, Eric?” I spat out, seething in what I could only describe as absolute blood-lust.

He seemed to sense my change in attitude and almost shied away from me. Even so, he held his ground. “I need you to do me a little favor. If you manage to off Tucker for me, I’ll drop my grudge with McCormick. Entirely. I won’t bother you or him ever again.”

“You want me to kill him? No. I’m n-not doing that.” I clenched my teeth, mentally preparing myself for another brawl.

“You d-don’t have to kill him.” Another voice spoke this time. I glanced over to see that it was Valmer who had spoken. “Just weaken him for us. All you’d h-have to do is g-grind up some broken glass and p-put it in his food for a couple weeks. After a while, his stomach won’t be able to process it and it’ll tear him up fr-fr-from the inside out. You won’t kill him, just let me know when he’s w-weak enough to confront. I’ll take it from there.”

I didn’t like the sound of this at all. It felt morally sickening and I wasn’t about to be a part of it. Sensing my disdain, Valmer continued. “Look, against m-me and Eric, you wouldn’t have a chance. We have the numbers and g-gangs. You don’t. If you do this, you and M-McCormick will be safe from both of our groups. It’s a n-no-brainer.” 

He had a point. If I refused, all the black people and Eric’s… friends? would be at my throat. It’d probably be more trouble than I could handle. Still… Tucker did nothing wrong, at least to me. And it felt so sinful, so gross. I couldn’t possibly stab someone in the back like that. But I’ve been bullied most of my life, and I knew the only way I could possibly get out of this.

So I bit back my pride and allowed myself to cool off before accepting the path carved out in front of me. “Alright.”

“...You’re going to do it?” Eric asked in disbelief.

“It’s the only way I can get out of this unscathed.” I replied coldly, looking him dead in the eye. “Now, i-if you don’t mind, I have ta go back to my job. I’ll keep in touch.” I added, looking away quickly and grabbing my cart before departing.

“You better keep your word, Thief!” Eric called after me. I didn’t respond. I didn’t have to.

After I was a safe distance away, my breathing became uneven and I was startled by the tears falling from my face. Since I first came here, I hadn’t really processed what was going on- what was happening to me on a daily basis. I felt as if my soul was tearing at the seams from this high-alert lifestyle I had gotten myself into. I couldn’t handle this. I couldn’t live like this. I sat on the outside steps behind the cafeteria and allowed myself to cry. I even was beginning to have a bit of a panic attack. My breathing was quick and my throat burned from being temporarily strangled. A few minutes passed and I wiped my eyes and allowed myself to calm down. I had to put on a facade again- let everyone know I was my old self. Weakness here was taken advantage of in a heartbeat. 

After I decided I was presentable, I made my way back inside the cafeteria and was immediately greeted by the sound of screaming. Never a dull moment, here in prison…

“What do you think you’re DOING?!! I just counted all of those!!” That voice was unmistakably Clyde. I walked into the kitchen and watched as he gave Tucker a heart-breakingly hurt pout. It looked like Tucker had mixed his counted rice back into the original sack with the uncounted grains.

Tucker was wearing a slightly self-satisfied smirk and I couldn’t keep down the wave of guilt I felt. “Time’s up. It’s break time. You can go back to counting when we come back for dinner.”

“You’re too cruel!” Clyde cried, standing up in defeat. It took a while, but I was finally catching on to why he wanted a job cleaning the cafeteria so badly. Smiling bitterly to myself, I gave our little group a wave after returning the cart and headed back out to meet with Kenny.

Like he promised, Kenny was waiting for me in the library. His nose was in a Stephen King book, and he dog-eared the page he was on promptly after seeing me. He was the only man I’ve seen here so far who has so much as opened a book, and I was beginning to find it oddly endearing. 

“So, where do we go for commissary?” I asked, walking beside him in the freezing cold. I watched absently as his hair was swept up by the wind, swirling and waving in rhythm. It was almost melancholic. 

“Over by Wendy’s office.” Kenny replied, and I was rather surprised that he was on a first-name basis with Miss. Testaburger. Then again, this was Kenny. He knew everyone. 

He led me to the line that was for commissary. Although we got their relatively early, there was still a long line of inmates.

“Probably best to get an idea of what you want now.” Kenny suggested, and I plunged deep into thought.

“New soap, shampoo… socks would be nice… What other kinds of things do they have?” I asked him.

“Lots of snacks, instant noodles, utility stuff, clothes, some magazines, shaving cream. That sort of thing.” Kenny listed, watching me as I contemplated what was worth my budget the very most. 

When it was my turn I went up to the window, prepared to deliver my list. I nearly fell over when Miss Stevens was the one who glared at me impatiently. My carefully thought-out plans tripped out of my mind and scattered across the floor.

“Hurry up Stotch. There’re more people than just you here.” She said coolly.

“I-I… I would l-like…” I stammered uselessly, avoiding her eyes. 

“He’d like a bar of soap, shampoo, socks, some shaving cream and razor blades, some oriental and beef flavored ramen, an extra set of towels, another blanket and pillow, and… What kind of snacks do you want?” Kenny cut in, turning to me for verification. 

“.... S-Some Doritos, several cans of Pepsi, and some Flaming Hot Cheetos.” I finished, giving Kenny a mix of a glare and a glance of thanks. He simply grinned, seeming to understand my conflicted feelings perfectly. I really hated how he kept bailing me out sometimes, but I had to admit that I didn’t exactly know what I was doing yet. I’d have to pay him back thoroughly in the future.

“Also,” I added. “Have I received anything from my family?” 

“Your aunt deposited some money in your account and informed the staff that she’d be here for visiting hours. She wanted to know what personal belongings you wanted. Tell her then. I’ll subtract the total from your account and get your things.” Miss Stevens informed me curtly and went to go retrieve everything. When she returned and handed over everything in a cardboard box, I thanked her and waited for Kenny to make his order.

“I’d like some instant coffee, oriental and beef ramen, six cans of Mountain Dew, some razors, shampoo, a new toothbrush, and some more toothpaste while you’re at it, that order of books I submitted last week, …. and the newest issue of OTAKU USA.” He listed off, looking up as if it were all written on the ceiling. “I also need my medication. That should cover it.”

To my surprise, Miss Stevens smiled sweetly and gathered everything for him before punching in the amount in her computer. “Here you are McCormick. Take care of yourself now.”

“Always do.” He grinned back and we walked off with our boxes. It wasn’t much, but a strange sense of excitement seized me as we approached our joint room. I’d get to make my little space a bit more personal; a bit more like a place I could feel comfortable in. 

“By the way, thanks for saving me back there.” I said, addressing Kenny. He was already cracking open his new magazine. 

“No problem.” He looked up at me with a somewhat sassy expression and a teasing smirk. “I owe you for giving me a blowjob, after all.”

I felt my face turn a bright red in surprise. I wasn’t expecting him to address the elephant in the room quite yet. But it was probably for the better.

“Oh, you don’t owe me n-nothing, Ken. You’ve been helping me out a lot since I’ve come here… It was the least I could do.” I looked up at him with my own playful grin. He raised his eyebrows in surprised but seemed quite content with me playing along.

“Damn right. Saving your ass is a lot of work, you know! Builds up a lot of tension.” 

“Well,” I continued teasingly, cracking open a Pepsi. “If you ever need an outlet for all of that tension, just let me know.” 

He blinked. “... I may very well take you up on that offer.”

I went back to putting away my new things. “So Kenny, what did you do before you got into prison? Did you have a job?”

“Yeah. Originally, I went to college but stuff happened… And I dropped out. At first, I didn’t really know what to do, so I worked some odd jobs to help support me and my family, but then I got into making music. Even more then that, I really got into DJing. I’d make some of my own mixes and I held a bunch of rave parties. It was pretty fucking sweet.” Kenny smiled, no doubt feeling nostalgic. “Music was really all I lived for most of my life. It was my escape. Apart from books, that is. What about you? Did you have a passion outside of college?”

I most certainly did. “Yeah. I was a painter, actually. I’d go out on the weekends to this remote little pond by my college and just paint for hours. Sometimes I’d be out there from morning until it got dark. During winter, the pond would freeze over and the neighborhood kids would come skate on it. That was my favorite time to paint it.” I smiled, thinking fondly of Stark’s Pond. It really was a beautiful sight- there wasn’t a simple way to describe it. It just reflected the seasons so perfectly and it always gave me a sense of tranquility. 

“I kinda had you pegged for a painter.” Kenny replied, setting aside his magazine and standing. “You probably have to get back to the kitchen soon, right? I’ll walk you over.”

I looked up at the large clock above our cell blocks and grimaced. He was right, I had to get back soon in time for dinner. I got up and we went out the double doors into the cold. I expected Kenny to stop once we reached the kitchen entrance, but he followed me in and waved in greeting to Tucker.

“McCormick.” Tucker gave him a slight nod and a smile. I was about to say hello as well, when suddenly the kitchen door slammed open behind me, hitting me in the back. 

“Oh, sorry Stotch! Didn’t see ya there.” Clyde grinned, patting me roughly on the back before skirting around me and Kenny to talk to Tucker.

“-So you said something about pasta?” 

Tucker’s mood soured immediately. “What will it take for you to stop?!”

Clyde’s nonchalant look was unfazed. “Dunno.”

Tucker sighed in irritation and grabbed Clyde’s sleeve before dragging him to the storage room, probably for uncooked pasta. Before he disappeared behind the door, Clyde gave Kenny and I a mischievous wink. 

Several seconds later, it was apparent why. “What the HELL do you think you’re doing?! Get off of me!” There was some crashing and the distinct sound of something breaking before the two emerged from the storage room. Tucker’s hair, which had been relatively neat, was now quite messy and Clyde had a nasty red mark on his jaw and a rather dismal expression. Kenny was cackling while holding his sides; it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what had happened. Nonetheless, Tucker was holding a bag of pasta triumphantly. Clyde washed his hands, popped open the bag, and began counting without a word as Pip and Tweak came in.

“If you’re going to be here, you might as well make yourself useful McCormick.” Tucker spoke up.

“Actually… If you don’t mind, I think I’ll assist Donovan with his pasta counting.” 

If looks could kill, Kenny would’ve dropped dead immediately.

So we went about preparing servings of spaghetti while Kenny and Clyde counted and, like Tweak had said, dinner proved to be a lot less stressful in comparison to lunch. Tweak and I discussed the different ways of preparing Italian foods and I learned that he used to actually own and Italian restaurant before he landed here in prison. Preparing the food was relatively enjoyable, but I liked serving even more. I don’t even know why. It was just satisfying to give people their dinner, so much so that I began regretting not getting into the food business earlier. Maybe I wouldn’t have stolen. Maybe.

Finally, our kitchen staff sat down around our prep table to eat our own meals. It definitely felt a lot safer than going out in the cafeteria to eat. In comparison to making and handing out food, cleaning up after was awful. We were all pretty tired, and no one seemed too keen about cleaning except for Clyde, who jumped at the idea of being helpful. Needless to say, he and Craig did most of it. After we were finished, we all parted our separate ways to our cubicles. 

Kenny flopped down on his bed comically and groaned. “As much as I like Craig, I hope he doesn’t make Clyde and I count anymore uncooked noodles. It strains your eyes after a while.”

I felt a pang of sympathy for Clyde as I recalled him relentlessly separating minuscule grains of rice. “He’ll probably think up s-something equally as awful for you to do tomorrow. Although, you don’t really have to do any of it. It’s Donovan who dug his own grave.”

At that, Kenny laughed. “True.”

I laid down on my bed and turned on my side to face Kenny. “Hey, Ken. This is kind of off-topic, but… How big of a deal is this Valmer guy? What should I do if I somehow manage to piss him off?”

Kenny looked at me in sharp alarm. “Why? Did you??”

I looked away. “Kind of. Maybe. I don’t really know yet.”

“Please tell me you didn’t piss him off. He’s literally the WORST person aside from Cartman to anger. If he’s after you, you’re dead. I mean, I can only protect you so much, Butters. But he plays really dirty. As in, a shiv-in-the-middle-of-the-night or pins-in-your-food kind of dirty.”

Oh. Oh shit. This wouldn’t be good. Leopold, why do you keep getting yourself into so much trouble all the time?!

“If what you did wasn’t so bad, then you’re probably fine. He’s got a lot to deal with. In addition to being the co-leader of the biggest gang here, he’s also got some family problems going on. Hopefully, he’ll be pretty distracted.” Kenny continued.

Yeah, I doubt that. I trust Kenny just fine, but I need to start taking care of myself at some point. He doesn’t need all of these problems I keep on finding. 

“You’re probably right. I’m just over-thinking things.” I sighed, hating myself for lying. The lights flickered off, signaling it was time to sleep.

A bout of silence passed between Kenny and I until I heard him snicker quietly. I was about to ask him what was so funny before he spoke. “You know, it’d be much more convincing to Cartman if you’d join me over here on my bed. There’s plenty of room.”

“I don’t think Eric would notice much, Ken.” I chuckled.

“No, really! It’d be super convincing. We have to really play it up if he’s going to believe it.” I knew that he was lying through his teeth by his overly-flirty tone, but I decided to play along.

“Alright. W-What would you do if I were to come over there right now?” I asked boldly, relishing the startled silence I received.

But he came up with a witty response nonetheless. “Why don’t you come over here and find out?” 

I couldn’t resist. I looked over our wall to see if any guards were looking this way before I stalked over to Kenny’s bed and slid in next to him. I was positively certain that Kenny hadn’t been anticipating me playing along this far with his teasing, because he froze in shock. But like before, he regained his composure and inched closer to me. I felt his fingers pull up the hem of my shirt slightly before reaching his hands in to feel up my chest.

“I guess I kind of owe you for my blowjob this morning, huh?” Kenny purred in a low voice as I trembled from his cold hands. 

“Nah, Ken. I already t-told you, you don’t owe me anything.” I replied in a whisper, placing my forehead against his. I could feel the little tickle of his breath against my lips and our noses touched. 

“You sure about that?” He asked, and I could feel him grin a little. 

“Yeah. After all… It d-doesn’t really mean anything if you do it because you’re returning a favor.” I grimaced after speaking, realizing just how cheesy I sounded.

“Huh. I guess I never thought of it like that.” I knew it was coming, but it still surprised me when his lips met mine. We stayed like that for a while- his hands underneath my shirt, our lips moving to match the other’s, until I finally raked my fingers through his hair and our tongues met. It was starting to get pretty heated before he pulled away abruptly.

“If we make too much noise, we’ll get a shot.” He whispered, kissing my jawbone. So, with a heavy sigh, we simply held each other as we drifted off into sleep.

 

The following morning came all too soon. The sun peeked through the windows above and like yesterday, Kenny and I woke up early to hit the showers before everyone else. Also like yesterday, Kenny extended the offer of showering together again and I agreed. I decided that showering with Kenny under the guise that he was my prag owner wasn’t that bad at all. Sure, it was awkward when everyone else came in, but that was one con among many pros. 

As Kenny was putting on a fresh pair of clothes, I was brushing my teeth in the sink next to Clyde. 

“So, uh, are you and McCormick, like, together or something?” Clyde asked me awkwardly. I heard Kenny laugh from the wooden bench.

“I s-suppose. Why?” I responded, amused.

“Well, I was just wondering… How exactly do you establish that? You know, in prison. With another guy.” Clyde looked like he was sweating as he stared down his reflection in the mirror.

“Umm, I don’t really know if I’m an expert on that t-topic. Kenny might be able to give you some better p-pointers.”

Clyde reddened. “I-It’s not like THAT!!”

Kenny walked by and added to Clyde nonchalantly, “Ask Tucker to be your prag owner. Works every time.” He turned to look at me. “You done?”

“Yeah.” I grabbed my stuff and left with him. “You know… You shouldn’t torture Donovan like that. He’s going to get his ass kicked.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Kenny chuckled, holding open the hallway door for me. “You’ve gotta admire his determination, though. Tucker’s not by any stretch of the imagination easy.”

The morning passed by in a blur after Kenny and I got to the cafeteria. Instead of counting uncooked food, Tucker had Clyde clean every inch of the kitchen by hand. The fryers, the supposed ‘dishwashers’ (which didn’t even work), the floor, the scummy windows, and of course, the entire cafeteria floors and tables. This time Kenny decided to do some light reading and read through the complete works of Edgar Allan Poe he’d gotten from Miss Stevens yesterday. He even had a highlighter and was writing notes in the margins. After breakfast and lunch, Clyde finally stormed in right as we were finished cleaning up.

“Craig!” He gasped, clearly out of breath from his mundane tasks. “I need to ask you something!”

Oh God. Here we go.

“Will you.. Will you be my prag owner?!!”

Tweek, who was in the middle of drinking some orange juice, gasped and choked profusely. Pip froze in place, spilling a bottle of ranch all over the prep table. Kenny was having fits of alarming laughter that turned into giggling snorts. But nothing beat Tucker’s reaction. His motor functions seemed to have freezed up entirely and his eyes looked into Clyde’s in absolute disbelief. An icy moment passed before he stepped up to Clyde and addressed him.

“Do you have ANY idea what you just said?” He asked, his voice trembling in utter shock.

“Um… Yes?” Clyde replied hesitantly, looking over to Kenny in uncertainty. 

“You want me. To fuck you in the ass. That’s what you want?” Tucker asked, his gaze never leaving Clyde’s.

Clyde still didn’t seem to understand that, firstly, he had been played by Kenny, and secondly, he still didn’t fully understand the concept of ‘prag owner’. Still, he persisted.

“No, no. That’s not what I mean at all!”

“It’s not?”

“Hell no! I want to do YOU in the ass!”

“...WHAT.”

“Isn’t that what ‘Will you be my prag owner?’ means?”

“...I’m leaving.”

“No, wait!”

And with that, Tucker pushed past us out of the kitchen. After a moment’s pause, Clyde muttered an angry “Jesus CHRIST!” and followed after him.

The rest of us all took a moment to process what had just happened.

“Man,” Kenny cackled. “He’s got it bad.”

Tweak regained his ability to breathe properly and stood shakily. “This… this is seriously freaking me out, man. I need to go get a cup of coffee or something.”

I was pretty sure that was the last thing he needed, but nonetheless I let him go. Pip left shortly after with a slight shake of his head. Kenny, on the other hand, seemed to be in a positively jolly mood and rested an arm on my shoulders before giving me a kiss full on the mouth.

“W-Where did that come from?” I asked, mildly surprised, but still quite numb from what had just unfolded before us.

“Dunno!” He laughed light-heartedly before opening the kitchen door and sneaking out, assumingly to spy on Tucker and Clyde. I sighed, looking around at our lunches still left behind mostly uneaten before I decided to check our stock of baked beans in the storage room. As I entered, I noticed it was still quite messy from Tucker and Clyde’s little spat yesterday, and I found the source of what had broken then. It was a glass jar containing something white- either salt or sugar. The glass fragments were everywhere, providing quite a hazard. I was looking around for a broom when suddenly a voice spoke in my mind. 

'All you’d h-have to do is g-grind up some broken glass and p-put it in his food for a couple weeks. After a while, his stomach won’t be able to process it and it’ll tear him up fr-fr-from the inside out. You won’t kill him, just let me know when he’s w-weak enough to confront. I’ll take it from there.'

I looked down at the glass shards and gulped. Tucker’s lunch was sitting in the kitchen uneaten, and there was a large chance that he’d come back and eat it later. It would be too easy to do as Valmer said. Kenny himself sounded afraid of Valmer. Was it really in my best interests to ignore his deal? I bent down to pick up a glass shard and winced as my skin cut upon its touch.


	4. Switchblade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is in Kyle's POV]

(A day has passed since the last chapter.)

Like any other law-abiding citizen, I never really saw myself as the ‘prison type’. I won’t deny that I had a bizarre interest in serial killers and psychopaths for most of my life; I was fascinated by their motives for killing and what had caused them to snap in the first place. The simple answer of “They’re either mentally unstable or blinded by revenge” never quite cut it for me. There had to be more to it than just that.

In fact.

I really felt that way when the police discovered the bodies of my next-door neighbors in my walk-in freezer.

I had been screaming ever since I was dragged through those dreadful double doors in the main office, and by now my voice was raw and hoarse. A pudgy and rather sullen female officer with the ironic last name of ‘Biggle’ had me in a vice-grip and was dragging me into one of the washed-out hallways. Her clothes smelled like off-brand cigarettes and I heard her spit on the stark-white floor. 

“Get your goddamn fucking hands off of me! I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again- I’M INNOCENT!” I rasped, kicking my legs in the air wildly to no avail.

“Not in here you’re not. The court said you’re guilty, so you’re guilty.” Her voice sounded both catty and tired and without another word she shoved me through a door labeled ‘COUNSELING’ and slammed it behind me.

I had only been in prison now for maybe an hour and I had already seen plenty of oddities (to put it nicely), but this office was something else entirely. Dozens, maybe even hundreds of collections of sorts were tucked away in any and every possible space, effectively giving me a thrill of claustrophobia. The person owning this office was clearly either a hoarder or had an extreme mental condition of some sort.

Finally after gawking around at the office for a moment, I noticed the only other person in the room with me. He was younger- assumingly around his early twenties like me, and had a shock of dark hair that could probably use a trim. He had dark blue eyes that were oddly familiar, and I couldn’t help but notice the light tan he had from underneath his blue prison guard outfit (which was impressive for this part of Colorado). He looked like he had the weight of the world’s stress on his shoulders, and even though the sign on the desk in front of him said ‘MR. MACKEY’ in big bold letters, the name plate on his chest told his name was Marsh. Something Marsh.

No. No way. It couldn’t be.

“Stan?”

His kind expression twisted in shock, and we both stood there with our mouths hanging open for several heavy moments.

“K-Kyle?! What the hell are you doing here??” Stan seemed like he was choking on his own words. I could hardly blame him.

“God, I haven’t seen you in years!” I said quickly, temporarily evading his question. I suppressed the urge to run to him and tell him everything that had happened since I’d last seen him. But things weren’t like that for us now, and I stopped myself from seeking his comfort. “How have you been?”

“I, ah, I’ve been fine. Been pretty distracted by work these past couple of years. What’ve you been up to?” Stan visibly gulped before remembering his seemingly new desk chair and decided to take a seat. I chose to do the same. My seat had teeth marks on it.

“Um, well. I’ve decided that becoming a lawyer was never a good fit and chose instead to become a blood spatter analyst. You can imagine how thrilled my dad was.” I added sarcastically, watching Stan nervously fiddle with a fountain pen on the cluttered desk.

“Heh. Yeah, I can.”

This was getting uncomfortably awkward. I had to change the course this conversation was going quickly. “So you’re, uh, a counselor?”

“Um, well, for today.” Stan snickered. “Mackey’s attending his daughter’s wedding over in New Mexico. He’s the normal counselor. I’m actually the prison manager, which I guess is kind of like a counselor in a way. I regulate what’s going on and inform the staff about it and start programs to help fix things in the prison. Lately, my main cause of stress has been the education system here- or rather, the lack thereof. It’s been challenging trying to get my plans passed by Miss Testaburger. Mostly because of financial problems. But you, ah, probably don’t want to hear me ramble about that stuff. I’m supposed to be counseling you, after all. So, how did you end up here, Kyle? You’re so goddamn clever. You’re like the last guy I expected to see here.”

I sighed softly and crossed my arms, not missing that tone of soft disappointment in his voice while hating his professional way of addressing me, like a task that needed to be completed. “I swear to God, Stan. I’m innocent, but I’m not going to talk to you of all people about this.”

“Why not?” Stan asked, a frown etching into his brow. “We used to be really close, Kyle.”

“We were close, Stan. That’s the problem! You know it as well as I do.” I replied, feeling slightly guilty for my rising voice. “I don’t want to talk to you about this!”

“Well, this time you don’t have a choice whether you want to talk to me or not, Kyle. You have to. Otherwise I wouldn’t be doing my job right.” Stan was getting mad, but I didn’t really care. I wasn’t going to tell him about the horrible scene I had walked in on with the police that night. Not when there was so much more that needed to be said first; that needed to be said years ago. No, Stan was the last person that could console me right now. 

“Just tell your staff that I’m not ready to open up about it yet! It’s my first goddamn cocksucking day!!” I stood up again in a fit of passion and slammed my hands down on the desk, knocking a collection of bobble heads to the floor in a flurry. Even so, Stan only seemed mildly surprised as a ‘Surfs-Up’ Obama bobblehead rolled into his lap..

“Fine. Is there anything else you want to say before I continue?” Stan asked, visibly calming down a little. I felt a pang of guilt yet again for yelling. Stan was a naturally gentle person, and it was pretty heart-breaking to stay mad at him for too long.

“Yes.” 

But I couldn’t tear the words from my throat. All my questions, all my grievances, just wouldn’t surface. I didn’t know where to begin, and it suddenly felt like I was sinking into strangling, depriving waves of mild hysteria. Stan just looked at me oddly, with a strange mix of caution and suppressed amusement. Neither one of us seemed to know how to proceed. After some excruciating moments, Stan let out a great huff.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t of just left you like that. It was cowardly and stupid and… God, I really fucked up, Kyle.”

“Why did you just disappear like that? You told your family to fucking keep me in the dark!! I just wanted to talk to you, to make sure you were ALIVE!” 

“...You laughed in my face when I told you I was in love with you. Of course I left.” He was calm and his words didn’t falter, but his face was ashen and ashamed. 

“I… I thought you were joking. I mean, you dated so many girls back in high school, there was no way you actually felt that way towards me. But after you left, I guess it finally sank in. I thought you’d at least text me or something, though.” I was beginning to feel ashamed too. I truly never thought I’d see him again, and now here I was, in prison of all places, having a heart-to-heart with my oldest friend. The whole idea was both comical and disgusting.

“What would I have said? ‘So, you know how you laughed at me when I confessed my feelings for you? Well, I was being totally serious and now I’m in a different state!’” 

“Well, I mean, yeah! At least it would’ve cleared the air between us! But instead you went and got a new number and made everything impossible! And then Kenny got dragged off to jail and I never saw HIM again either! And now you have one of the shittiest jobs ever and I’ve been convicted of first degree murder!” I knew I was starting to get a little ridiculous again, but I certainly didn’t give a fuck. I’ve been waiting to say this for nine entire years, after all.

“...I never got a new number, actually. I read all five hundred of your texts, I really did. Maybe it was a little, or a lot, masochistic, but I couldn’t just let go of you yet. You’ve always been right there for me whenever I needed you the most. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to that.” Stan seemed to have trouble removing his eyes from the ballpoint pen before him resting on his papers, as if it held all of the right answers to what we’ve gotten ourselves into. He bit his lip. “Kyle, I have to ask. Please be honest with me. Why are you here? What actually happened? Did you really kill those people?”

Now it was my turn to feel the peak of the embarrassment. Not because I was humiliated by his lack of faith in me; I currently had a lack of faith in me too. Rather, I was upset over the information I had to share. “That day I stayed home sick from work, which is obviously rare for me- I am me, after all- and mostly lounged around sleeping all day. I had a head cold, and I took some NyQuil to knock it out for a while. I woke up around 8:30 to the cops knocking on my door. I was only in my boxers, but since they were being rather rude I didn’t get an opportunity to ignore them. They told me they had a search warrant and that they wanted to check my house for suspicious activity based on an anonymous call they received about screaming. They never could track the caller; the phone that was used to call in was stolen and later destroyed. I’ll admit, not many blood spatter analysts have their samples at their house, but I like to keep myself busy. It didn’t take long for the police to find the walk-in freezer, and I was arrested on spot as a suspect. I was in my boxers, for Christ’s sake! And the bodies… I had never seen anything like it before, Stan. They were actually fermenting in their own blood. Had to of been several days old. But like I told the police, the neighbor’s bodies were most certainly NOT there before I took the NyQuil, so someone had to of orchestrated all of this while I was knocked out. NyQuil can be potent, I suppose. Regardless, the judge found me guilty despite the shady caller, the order of how things supposedly played out, and the miracles of NyQuil and now I’m stuck in this hellhole sorting out my feelings and the definite life sentence I have, since everyone knows parole is bullshit.”

“Well-”

“No, it is. Look, I know I’m fucked Stan. I’m probably even a candidate for death row. Hell, I’m probably going to be on it in a couple years or so. I know how the system works, so don’t try to make me feel good about it.” He and I both knew it. I was more than likely going to be executed sooner rather than later. I had known how shady my story was and how little supporting evidence I had, and now even I was starting to doubt what had really happened that day.

Stan looked even more torn than before. Before we started discussing my inevitable doom, he just seemed sad and sullen, but now he appeared overwhelmed and quite possibly even afraid. I suppose that was me yesterday. Right now, I only felt spiteful and somewhat numb.

“Kyle, you know I’m going to try everything I possibly fucking CAN to get you out of here. You know that, right? I’m not going to let you die for a crime you didn’t even do.” Stan was now trying to grab on to some ray of hope only he could find, but both of us knew it wasn’t there to begin with. “Hey… I have some good news for you. Kenny was relocated to this prison too. I’d be fired if anyone found out I knew him, or you for that matter, but I’ve been trying to look out for him some. It’ll raise his spirits to see you again.”

Kenny! That’s a name I haven’t heard for a while. Back in the day, Kenny, Stan, and I were closer than brothers. Many nights, Stan and I would sneak out to go drink on top of Kenny’s roof and spin grand schemes of what we’d do after we got out of high school. But then there was a domestic issue and Kenny was carted away during the middle of Junior year to jail. A year later he was free to go, but another, more serious incident occurred and he was sent off to prison. The three of us had always planned on going everywhere together, and somehow in some fucked up way, we had. 

“Is he still the same?”

“He’s still the same.” I could feel a bittersweet smile on my face. Stan appeared to gain life from my reaction and continued. “He’s definitely had some rough patches, but he came out on top. He’s a tougher guy than we gave him credit for. But, there’s one other familiar face here too. Your, uh, brother is here.”

“Ike is here?!”

My blood ran cold. I hadn’t considered that he might have been relocated to this prison at some point, but since it was the Colorado federal prison, I supposed it would have only been a matter of time. When we were growing up, my little brother and I spent a lot of time together. I saw him as my responsibility even though he wasn’t actually related to me. That’s why it hit me so hard when he started smoking and doing other various drugs. At some point, he became a drug dealer during his high school years and secretly continued his business after he graduated. At first, it was only pot, but over time he started dealing and using heroin. He was eventually caught and arrested for it, but he must of done something else to have ended up here.

“Maybe it’ll be good for you to reunite. You know… settle your differences and such.” Stan supplied cautiously, watching my expression. I frowned at him pointedly. 

“What did he do to end up here?”

“Uh, well... he and his friends started making their own moonshine apparently. They had been selling it for a while before experimenting with it themselves. Unfortunately, Ike must’ve been drunk while he was making it, because he gave them a batch of pure ethanol instead. Two of his friends died immediately and Ike was taken into extensive care. He was miraculously alright, except his eyesight deteriorated some.” Stan looked me in the eyes empathetically. “According to his doctor’s notes, he may go entirely blind within the next month at the latest. I’m sorry, Kyle. I thought your parents would have said something to you.” 

They probably would have, If they actually thought I didn’t kill three people and stuff them in my freezer. They haven’t said it outright, but I know they don’t really think I’m innocent. That’s what hurt the worst.

“So my brother’s handicapped, my parents don’t trust me or tell me anything, we’re weird right now, and I’m charged with murder. This is a great day so far.” I ran my hand through my unruly hair, finally letting the entire weight of my stress sit on my shoulders and accumulate like an unwanted vulture. I was far beyond stressed in all honestly, and I’d most likely collapse into a fit of hysteria after I left this stuffy little room with Stan.

“We don’t have to be weird right now. I mean, we’ve gone through a lot of shit before. Remember how awful I was after Uncle Jimbo died?”

“I was certain you’d drink yourself to death.”

“Yeah, well. I probably would’ve if it wasn’t for you. You helped me control myself and pushed me to move forward. You’re not in this alone, dude. I’ll look out for you as much as I can. Just stick with Kenny the rest of the time; he’ll keep an eye on you, I’m sure.” Stan stood suddenly. “I can’t keep you in here for much longer. As much as I’d like to, I have a lot of work stacking up. I’ll get Stevens to get you set up with a room. We don’t have any Cubes open at the moment, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable putting you in one of those anyway. The last thing someone like you wants is to be stuck with a single, lone prisoner.”

“Someone like me?” I asked, feeling a little insulted.

“Well, I mean… Someone like you is probably more likely to be targeted by the others.”

“What the hell are you even implying?!”

Stan looked sheepish. “Nothing! Just that you’re an attractive guy and there’s not really any women around here… Not that you’re like a girl or anything like that! Ugh, just never mind. You’re in a room, that’s what’s important. Tomorrow you’ll have orientation and then you’ll come back here for a job assignment. Just… please promise me you’ll try to control your temper a little. I don’t want you starting any fights you aren’t ready for.”

Still rather insulted, I decided to throw Stan’s concern to the wind. “I’m perfectly fine, Stan. I can take care of myself easily. I have been for years, after all.”

Stan looked hurt by my comment and got out from behind his desk. “Let me at least walk you there. I don’t think Stevens is here yet anyway. And the hallways can get pretty disorienting if you’re not used to them.”

“If it makes you feel better.” I grumbled, secretly glad that Stan was going to at least guide me through the gates of Hell. I slid out of my chair and we walked for the door. 

I really didn’t care for these hallways. They were just entirely too white, and the fluorescent lighting made them feel dismal and draining. Nevertheless, Stan led me through the maze with a slight bounce in his step. 

“It’s good to see you again.” He whispered to me, and I gave him a little smile. He had messed up quite a lot, and so have I, but throughout all of the years of solitude and unanswered questions he had never stopped being the most important person in my life. Perhaps our relationship ran further than I’d like to admit. “You know, you should join our new education program that I’m trying to pass. Generally it’s for uneducated inmates, but I think you’d enjoy working as my assistant.”

“You teach here at the prison?” I asked, trying to imagine Stan reading to a class of delinquents. For some strange reason, the notion held as much sweetness as a teacher reading to children at story-time.

“Yeah. Class is only for an hour before dinner, but I have to set up lesson plans and grade papers during the normal inmate work hours. Since I’m running so many things here at the prison, I think Miss Testaburger will agree to it. I mean, if it sounds fine with you.” Stan gave me an uncertain side glance.

He really had matured over the years, and not just because he was acting more responsibly. His face was noticeably more lean than I had recalled it being, and he was much more muscular than he ever was back in high school (probably for his line of work). I’d imagined him growing into an adult before, but I never once pictured him working in a prison. He was too kind and forgiving for a job like this, and judging by the bags under his eyes he was fighting too hard for a lost cause.

But instead of asking why he was really here, I kept our general conversation flowing. “What would I be doing during the class period?” 

“Ah, mostly just passing out papers and keeping an eye on the other inmates. Nothing too awful.”

Since I was still somewhat angry at him, I told him I would think about it even though I was pretty certain I’d take up his offer (I’d be damned if I missed out on an opportunity to see Stan teach a class). He took me to the front office and scanned the sheets of paper taped to the heavy door. 

“I don’t really know who’s in this room with you, but you’re in Room C.” Stan admitted, turning from the roster to look at me. “If you have any problems with any of your roommates, come tell me about it, okay?”

“Sure.” I returned his gaze. “Where’s Room C?”

“Here, come this way.” 

I followed Stan further into the sullen hallways, finally seeing a couple of inmates. There was a twitchy little blonde man (who seemed to be practically frothing at the mouth) discussing something in a panicked tone with a tall, mysterious man whose icy eyes pierced like daggers.

As I got closer to them, I could catch snippets of their conversation. “.... Are you SURE we have enough carrots for tonight?! I could have sworn that the order was half of what it should’ve been!”

I rolled my eyes and continued walking after Stan, assuming that the smaller man was going through serious drug withdrawals or had a deep case of schizophrenia. He looked the type. Eventually, Stan rounded the final corner and walked me up to a plated door labeled C.

“Well, this is it. I’ll back later with sundries. Until then, you might as well explore a little. I’d recommend stopping by the library so you’re not bored out of you mind. Dinner will be in about four hours. And please,” Stan lowered his voice. “Try not to draw too much attention to yourself. Stick close to Kenny and his group. They mostly spend time in the kitchen; I’d recommend getting in with them as soon as possible. It may look pretty peaceful, but I’ve heard some reports that gang activity will be stirring up pretty soon. Try not to get into the middle of it for once, okay dude?”

I gave him a wry smile. “I’ll try my best, but no promises. You know how I am.”

“Yeah I do.” And with that, Stan gave me a parting nod and left me to my empty room. 

I surveyed the area carefully. There was a single desk with a single chair at the back of the room and several drawers were lined up here and there. There seemed to be quite a few bunks that could be empty; only two had messy, slept-in sheets. Another bed that was at the base has a cluster of belongings next to it and a book by its nightstand, so I chose a bunk that seemed entirely vacant. I threw my tan jacket on the top bed, and therefore claimed it as my own. The bottom bunk was admittedly more practical, but from the top I could survey the others better, and that was my primary concern at the moment. Since I had nothing more to do in my new living quarters, I headed out.

I was almost certain I would get lost, so I decided I’d just stick to the left wall until I found the library. I was glued to the wall as if my life depended on it and avoided any passing inmate like the plague. I wasn’t actually like them; I didn’t DO anything wrong (at least, I was pretty certain), so I didn’t want to associate with them unless I had no other choice. Or unless they happened to be Kenny or maybe even Ike. Maybe. Regardless, I kept my eyes focused straight forwards and kept a blank expression painted on. It troubled me that all the other inmates aside from a peculiar blonde man I saw were wearing tan suits instead of bright orange like mine. It was probably a sign of maturity, and I hoped there was a good number of orange suited prisoners to blend in with later on.

Eventually, I managed to make my way outside and to the library, which was apparently a separate building entirely. I pushed open the doors and proceeded inside with my guard up, still uncertain about how the prison life was supposed to work. I was expecting to get mugged at any second now. But the library seemed practically empty. It made sense; statistically speaking, not many prisoners have obtained an education. I was perfectly content with the library’s morgue-like silence and confidently approached the shelves. 

I made my way from the RELIGION section over to the LANGUAGE section, deciding to brush up on my Hebrew. My mother had insisted that I learned it growing up as a part of our religious background, and I had really took to it. I was thumbing through a lengthy text when suddenly a voice addressed me.

“What the actual SHIT are you doing here?!”

I let out a startled yell as arms embraced me from behind. I whirled around to face my attacker and was face-to-face with the most welcome sight I could’ve seen.

“Kenny!! My God, it’s so good to see you!” I cried, returning the embrace with my old friend. He looked good. Better actually, than he had back when he was still in high school. There was more meat on his bones, more color in his face, and more strength in his eyes. He seemed truly healthy for once, and that thought nearly brought tears to my eyes.

“What are you doing here, Kyle?!” He repeated, smiling despite himself.

“It’s a pretty long story Ken. I was wrongly convicted of murder. And now… God! How have you been?”

Kenny and I migrated outside, talking animatedly about our lives over the many late years. We sat down together at a bench.

“A blood spatter analyst, huh? You realize you’re basically Dexter Morgan right now, right?” Kenny laughed, shaking my shoulder good-naturedly.

“That thought did occur to me, yes.” I snickered back, glad I could finally laugh over my situation. Unlike Stan, Kenny and I just fell right back into the friendship we had lost track of so many years ago. Stan and I just seemed frozen in paralysis now. “So, you haven’t asked about… I mean, I kept in pretty close contact with them. If you’re ready, I could tell you how they are.”

Kenny was silent for a long time.”I’m not. I’m not ready. Could you… just tell me how Karen is doing? Is she… Is she okay?”

I was so grateful I didn’t have to give him any bad news. “Karen’s doing fine. Actually, she finally became a therapist last year. Did she tell you that? She seems to really be enjoying her work, though it takes a toll on her sometimes.”

The transformation from great anxiety to great relief was written all over Kenny’s face. Stan hadn’t kept in touch with the former McCormick family like I had, so he probably didn’t know anything about the situation as of late. Maybe it was for the better.

“So, you have seen Stan around, yeah? He’s going to want to talk to you at some point.”

“Yeah. We talked a little. He was filling in for the counselor, actually. It was… pretty awkward.” I admitted, feeling glad I could talk about this with someone competent and who could understand the full situation.

“What did he say to you?” Kenny asked with an intense glint in his eyes.

“He told me that he had been serious about… what he had said before and that he ran off like the stupid pussy he is. And also that he read but didn’t reply to my texts and voicemails. I’m clearly not very happy with him right now.” I said plainly, glaring at the tall fences surrounding us.

“Try not to be too harsh on him. It took a lot for him to say what he did and his pride was pretty hurt for… Oh, how long has it been? A long ass time.” He let out a snort. “I KNEW you two had a thing for each other. -Didn’t I say I always knew? But ever since there’s been some kind of progression between you two, I’ve been stuck here rotting away behind bars unable to rub it in your faces. Life is too cruel sometimes.”

“I never said that I had any kind of feelings like that towards him.”

“No? Well, at least you used to. I remember you telling me so once when we were both drunk! But come on. Give him a chance! It’s been a long time; you two aren’t used to each other anymore. I have faith that once this whole thing blows over, you’ll be perfectly fine.” After he spoke, Kenny stood up and gestured for me to follow him. “I want to introduce you to someone.”

Without another word, he turned and started walking through the prison’s yellowing lawn to another building. Curious, I followed close behind.

“I think you’re going to like it here eventually. It takes a while to get used to, but since you’re a lifer like me you’ll have plenty of time!” Like usual, Kenny seemed confident in his predictions, but I wasn’t so sure. I deeply missed my structured and softer life on the outside. Saying goodbye to that forever was something I wasn’t capable of yet. “Tomorrow you can talk to your family if you like on one of the phones. The guards don’t want us making any calls on Mondays anymore.”

He led me all through the cafeteria to the door leading into the kitchen. Inside were an odd collection of inmates. The twitchy blond and the serious man I had seen before were here- the latter dutifully cutting up carrots into neat little circles while the former quivered by a large assortment of canned meats. There was another blonde I vaguely remembered passing in the halls too; he had an orange suit like mine and a kind, rounder face with glittering blue eyes. Yet another blonde was there, looking much more straight-laced and wimpy, who was pulling out loafs of bread. And finally, a man with light brown hair and an actual eye-patch was washing dishes in the back with a strange sort of aloof concentration. All in all, I felt like I had walked into the setup of a bad joke.

Kenny cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the inmates, and introduced me to the odd assortment as an old friend of his. There was a cluster of murmured greetings while they continued preparing dinner. Kenny took me over to the orange suited man who smiled at me warmly.

“Hello. It’s n-nice ta meet you, Kyle! I’m Stotch. So, you know Kenny from before?” He asked, and I offered him my hand in greeting. After a moment’s hesitation we shook hands.

“Yeah, he and I have been close friends since preschool. He’s practically a brother to me.” It felt wrong leaving out a description of Stan, but for the sake of his job I had no choice. “Are you and he close too?”

Stotch seemed remarkably uncomfortable by my innocent question, and he worried his fists together. “I-I suppose you could s-say that.” Kenny snickered loudly and smacked him on the ass.

“Hell yeah, we are!” 

I decided to change the topic before the conversation spiraled out of control. “So, what were you convicted of?” 

In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have asked him such a question so plainly, but Stotch didn’t miss a beat with his reply. “Theft. I robbed a bank and some jewelry stores. What are you in for?”

I also shouldn’t ask questions I wouldn’t want to answer myself. “Nothing. I was wrongly accused.”

“So was I!” The brown-haired man washing dishes piped up, laughing. “That wasn’t ACTUALLY me running around naked! It was just somebody that looked like me.”

“Don’t be silly, Donovan. We all know you broke the law. I, on the other hand, was only trying to save the environment. Hell, I’m probably the only guilt-free person here!” The straight-laced wimp added, slicing bread solemnly as if he thought he was being matyrous. 

Sensing that I had somehow opened Pandora’s Box, I quickly said my goodbyes to the odd group and backed out of the kitchen, hoping my abrupt departure wasn’t very rude. I felt somewhat better about my situation here after meeting some of the other inmates, but I still had my guard up, especially since Kenny hadn’t followed me out. It’d probably be in my best interest to get physically stronger as soon as possible so I wasn’t forced to depend on him. 

Unfortunately, I didn’t have a single idea where the weight training room might be. I surveyed the campus and spotted another inmate a couple yards away leaning up against a wall with crossed arms. He was certainly frightening; muscle was practically dripping off of him. He resembled a hulking creature of sorts, with light brown hair that had been recently shaved and glinting eyes. There were scars dancing all up his shoulders and bruises decorating his face with a matching busted lip. He was a pretty jarring sight, and my common sense told me to turn and run before he got any closer.

But I was already growing tired of being afraid of this place. Nothing had happened to me yet, and someone like this man would probably leave me alone if I acted like he didn’t frighten me. So I mustered up every ounce of my confidence and approached him.

“Where’s the weight training room?” I asked him as flippantly as I could.

“You new?” He replied, a malicious smirk stretching across his face.

“Perhaps I am. Where is the weight training room?” I repeated, not even amusing the idea of holding a long conversation with a man like him.

“Let me show you. I was headed that way anyway.” He gathered himself off of the wall and expectantly walked off, no doubt assuming that I’d follow. I truly was tempted to just bolt off in another direction, but I swallowed my fears and followed suit, focusing only on the new task I had assigned myself moments before.

“Normally I don’t talk to faggy gingers, but you seem different. How long are you in for?” The man asked me, seemingly trying to hide his obviously evil nature. 

With him, I felt a thrill of pride responding. “Life.”

“No you aren’t.”

“I am.”

“No way! What the fuck did you do?” He asked, snapping his head around to look me in the eye.

“I killed my neighbors and stuffed them in my fridge.” Okay, I hadn’t, probably, but this guy didn’t need to know that.

“Did you really?”

His innocently curious tone threw me off, but I kept up my poker face. “I did. They let their kids play basketball in the parking lot at night. They were making too much noise.”

“Holy shit. We finally have another badass in this goddamn vanilla hellhole.” The bulky man laughed, shaking like a house would during an earthquake. He led me to where the gym apparently was and we went in. Inside, there was a moderately sized basketball court where several black prisoners were playing a match. The bulky inquisitive man took me to a door in the back that opened up another room; this one entirely dedicated to weight training. Several inmates were using the bench press while others were using hand-held weights or goblets. It was all too manly and foreign to me, but I swept aside my uncomfort and went over to select some weights.

Perhaps an hour and a half or so passed and by then I was feeling more than slightly exhausted. I hadn’t had the need or remote desire to get fit in several years, especially since I mostly worked with samples of blood all day. Throughout all of this time, the burly man from before had stayed with me, working primarily on the bench press (which I couldn’t even properly attempt yet). He didn’t say much, but he observed me intently which certainly made me feel wary and not entirely comfortable. Even more alarming, when I put away my weights and gave him a nod in farewell, he did the same and followed me out of the weight room and outside several paces behind. I was beginning to understand what it was like to be stalked; I turned my head just enough to see past my shoulder and he would be there, yards in the distance. Panicked and feeling not very safe, I had to pick between retreating back to my room or back to Kenny. Deciding that I didn’t want him to know which room was mine, I sought out Kenny, assuming he was back in the cafeteria still. I began to head that way when suddenly, I noticed yet another familiar face. 

Ike had certainly looked better. He had cuts and scars and appeared to have aged too much too quickly, like Stan. But even more, his eyes seemed somewhat vacant and he was perpetually squinting. I felt like crying. Deciding it would be better to face him rather than ignore him like some stranger, I slowly approached him.

“Kyle! Is that really you?!” Ike yelled as I got within his circle of vision (only six feet it would seem). “Holy shit! Holy shit!! What the hell are you doing here?!”

How many times have I been asked that today? I found myself embracing him instead of replying and after a startled pause, he returned the gesture.

“What… are you doing here, Kyle?” 

Telling him how I wound up with a life sentence was harder than telling Kenny; even harder than telling Stan. I had been, at least for a short time, Ike’s role model. What hope did he allow himself to have if his older brother was in here with him? And now that he’s going blind, was he going to need my protection? Would he even let me protect him?

After I told him my reasons for being in prison, he was silent for a long moment before he spoke. “Mom must be so, so freaked out. I mean, it was bad when I got in here and started going blind, but now that it’s you too… You were her only hope for anything, after all.”

“That’s not even remotely true. You were always smarter than I was, even while you were doing drugs.”

“Well, duh. I’m talking about since I got stuck in here.” Ike snickered.

“How are you doing here? Did you have any problems with any of the prisoners?” I asked, feeling slightly overprotective despite myself.

“Ehh, not really. I had a few hiccups early on, but I found some alright people to hang with. Plus, your old boyfriend relocated here to keep an eye on me and Kenny. He’s made it a lot easier on us.”

I almost forgave Stan for the years of abysmal absence right then and there, and a part of me couldn’t understand why I didn’t. “So he started working here after you came?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Kenny was practically in tears to see us both. I think he was starting to lose it, being in here all by himself. He seemed almost suicidal at first, and definitely pretty crazy; he was talking to people only he could see and casually discussing how the afterlife is to other inmates. It was quite a fiasco, but he talked to a therapist for a while and seems okay now I guess.” Ike shrugged.

Well, this was certainly terrifying. Kenny was either recovering from insanity or was just getting better at hiding it. But for some reason, I wasn’t very surprised. In my youth, I recalled sometimes having strange dreams involving Kenny dying in some gruesome, horrid way. Talking to imaginary people and thinking of death just seemed so… him.

Ike asked me questions about Mom and Dad, questions about how my job had been before coming here, and asked me if Karen was still single or not (he had dated her for a brief period of time in high school and never fully got over their break up). Eventually, he told me he had some medication issues to sort out at the front office. I walked with him until we got to the corridor of rooms. I parted ways with him and looked around. I had forgotten about the burly man who had been following me. With a thrill of panic, I found myself unable to locate him. Surely he had tired of my trivial life. I swallowed my fears and entered Room C.

Immediately, I noticed several things were different from before. There was a bundle of sundries at the foot of my bunk. There was also another person in here with me, who was lounging on a bed reading a book. It was the tall, serious man from before. His mouth seemed to have a natural resting frown, but even so he was quite beautiful. 

He noticed and addressed me in a smooth, unimpressed voice. “So. You’re here now too, huh? That’s nice.”

From the way he said it, it didn’t seem even remotely nice. “Yes, ah, who else is in this room?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He sighed and dogeared his page, closing the book with unnecessary firmness. “There’s two others. Tweek and Cartman. I don’t suppose you remember Tweek; the twitchy little man who was also in the kitchen.”

“I do remember him.” I stated, beginning to really dislike his sense of superiority. “Who’s Cartman?” 

“The asshole who’s trying to get rid of me.” He replied simply. “He’s want me dead for a while now.”

“Why doesn’t he just shiv you in the middle of the night?” I asked, wondering if this ‘Cartman’ was a full-on retard for not coming up with this himself. “And, hang on, aren’t you supposed to be in the kitchen?”

“No. Stotch has been more than useful lately and since I’m in charge, I decided that it was getting too insanely brain-dead in there and excused myself. But as for Cartman, Tweek and I are pretty close, and he has a sleeping problem. If Cartman so much as stirs in the middle of the night, Tweek’ll notice.”

Well, great. This was apparently going to be terrible. I was just about to say as much when suddenly a polite rapping came from the door. I went to pull it open and was surprised to see Stan.

“Oh, hey. You’re in here. Good. Um, I just wanted to say that dinner’s in a couple minutes, so I’d recommend heading that way soon. And also… don’t forget to put away your sundries before anyone else gets in here. It’d suck to have them get stolen.” Stan said, walking into the room and shutting the door behind him. He seemed like he wanted to say something more.

“Ah, thanks.” I replied, sensing discomfort at having the other inmate in the room with us. I looked over at him in the corner of my eye and noticed that he was blatantly staring at us with intentional apathy. He wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

“Uh, also…” Stan lowered his voice and brought his mouth closer to my ear. “After dinner, meet me behind the cafeteria. This prison doesn’t actually have any security cameras on the inside.”

Excluding my outrage at this new knowledge (no cameras around proven criminals? REALLY?), his words sent a chill down my spine. I kind of expected something like this eventually, but even so a strange thrill of excitement surged through me. I gave him a slight nod as a response and he stepped back.

“Okay, I’ll see you two later then. Keep an eye on him, Tucker.” And with that, Stan opened the door and left as quickly as he had come. 

“I heard that.” The man, apparently ‘Tucker’, stated flatly. I froze. “You haven’t even been here a day, and you’re already fucking one of the guards?”

“We’re not fucking.” I snapped, grabbing my collection of sundries and throwing myself up onto the bunk I had claimed. I rifled through my new belongings: a toothbrush with toothpaste, a set of two shampoos and conditioners (I suspected Stan of snagging me extra, since he knew my hair was practically untameable), and sheets for my naked mattress and pillow. As I peeled apart the sheets, I noticed a peculiar weight to them. Curious, I searched for the source and stumbled onto a book that I immediately recognized. The Hobbit had been a favorite of mine growing up (The whole Lord of the Rings series, really, but this one especially) and I knew right away why Stan had given it to me.

“What are you even saying?! How could you not of read The Hobbit?!! I’ve reread it at least five times!” 

“I don’t know. Just never got around to it, I guess.” Stan shrugged, closing his Algebra 1-2 book in defeat.

“Would you read it if I gave it to you?”

“Probably not dude. Look, I’ve tried reading it before. I just get stuck after a while.”

“Well, what if I read it to you?”

He laughed. “You’d actually read me a book out loud? We’re almost in high school, you know.”

“So?! All the more reason for you to read The Hobbit now before it starts to get REALLY embarrassing!” I cried, throwing my arms about dramatically. “I can’t even believe this! My own best friend!”

“Alright, alright. Read me the goddamn book, then. If it makes you happy.” Stan chuckled, sprawling out on my bed. 

I cleared my throat and began. “‘In the hole in the ground there lived a hobbit…”

I smiled, opening the book to inspect it. There, in the corner of the inside cover, was ‘Kyle Broflovski’ in my own handwriting. He had kept it, after all these years.

I quickly hid the book in my pillowcase, made up my bed, and slipped out the door for dinner. I probably could’ve eaten in the kitchen, but I felt it would be intrusive and instead got my food from Stotch and sat at a quiet table by myself. In hindsight, I should’ve thought to of brought The Hobbit with me. Instead, I focused solely on the food before me. Bread and a serving of vegetable and meat soup. It wasn’t much, but at least the soup was decent enough.

A cough behind me broke me of my concentration. I turned to see Kenny and Stotch, who were both carrying trays. “Mind if we sit here?” Kenny asked, already setting down his tray. “It gets pretty isolating in the kitchen sometimes.”

“Of course.” I replied, feeling more than a little thankful for the extra numbers.

“How are you adjusting so far?” Kenny asked me. 

“Can’t tell yet. I’ll get back to you on that.” I answered truthfully.

“Have you seen your brother yet?”

“His brother’s here?” Stotch interjected, looking surprised. I didn’t miss the small smile Kenny gave him and the hand that was resting on his thigh. A lot of things must’ve happened over the years, indeed.

“Yeah, his younger brother’s Ike Broflovski.”

“Oh! He seems… F-Friendly.” Stotch stuttered, looking down in embarrassment. ‘Friendly’ must’ve been his polite way of saying ‘perverted’.

“Yes, well, I talked to him some. We caught up. But his sight… My God, Kenny. I can’t even tell if he cares or not. He was so matter-of-fact about it.” Truthfully, we both were, but that’s just because I was hiding how upset I was. Perhaps so was he.

“He cares. Trust me.” Kenny said softly, looking down at his food pensively.

Suddenly, a voice rang out from the kitchen. “I TOLD you. Back the fuck off.”

“Come on, Craig! You don’t have to act like that with me!”

The was a crash and a flurry of cusses before the kitchen door crashed open and Tucker flew out with a deep scowl, an apron on, and a swirl of some kind of white powder trailing out from behind. The brown-haired dish washing man from before came out after him, white powder in his hair and dotting his clothing, and attempted to grab his shoulder, only to have his hand slapped away.

“You had one job. ONE job. To keep an eye on Tweek and make sure he didn’t flip out. I was gone for five minutes and now there’s flour all over my kitchen.”

“I just turned my back for a second! I didn’t think he’d be able to do anything in a single moment!” 

“Well, Donovan, I guess now you know.” Tucker’s frigid tone seemed to cut the other man like a knife and his steps faltered some. They strange pair made their way over to my table and ‘Donovan’ let out a sigh.

“So you’re sitting out here now, huh? Well, it’s more social than the kitchen at least.” Donovan said somberly as Tucker slid in to the seat next to Stotch without a single word. At first glance, he seemed stressed and annoyed but it seemed rather forced like he was purely choosing to act that way without much prompt.

A moment after they sat down, another figure emerged from the kitchen door. It was Tweak, who was covered head to toe in flour. His spiky blonde hair looked like a shock of fiery white now, and he had a nervous, almost petrified look that was nearly concealed by a thin layer of flour. He seemed unsure of himself for a long pause, but after Donovan gestured for him to approach us, he finally did, slipping into the chair next to him.

“So- Kyle, was it? Are there any good songs out lately? I mean, I’ve only been in here for like a week, but they let me bring my iPod in and I wanted to download some new music.” Donovan spoke up, apparently the source of conversation in their little group.

“Well, what sort of music do you like?” I asked with an air of clipped politeness. I didn’t mind conversing usually, but here in prison I felt like I was in a cage of solitude. Additionally, I was more interested to hear what Stan wanted to say than any casual conversation Donovan could offer.

“Oh, this and that. Rock, rap… Other stuff…” His attention was broken suddenly; Tucker was attempting to rid Tweek’s hair of flour.

“I think you’d probably not enjoy my type of music then. I like peaceful, urban music. You’d have more luck talking to Stan about rock or rap music. He has a bizarre affliction for music like that.” 

“Who’s Stan?” Donovan asked, rekindling his interest in our discussion.

Oh. Oh fuck. “I-I’m sorry, you don’t know him. I forgot we’re in prison.” At least that part was true. “He’s an old friend of mine. We grew up together.”

Kenny raised his eyebrows. I was starting to get worried, but Donovan’s smile assured me that he had bought my bullshit story. “I have a friend like that too. His name’s Kevin. But we have pretty different taste in stuff. He’s all about Star Trek and I’m… well, I’m just not. He likes lots of stuff I don’t.”

“What do you like?” Tucker grumbled, staring menacingly into his soup. “Seems like you don’t like anything.”

“I like lots of stuff! I like YOU, after all!” Donovan replied indignantly, not ashamed of his declaration in the slightest. I was rather appalled and impressed as I watched Tucker’s stoic face heat up.

“Don’t say it like that!” He retorted.

“Well how else am I supposed to say it? It’s the truth!”

Tucker went silent and Donovan sighed and pulled out from the table to stand. As he was about to leave, a hand reached out suddenly and clasped his wrist.

“Come with me.” Tucker said, and he dragged the confused man out of the cafeteria and back into the kitchen. I let my gaze fall on their abandoned trays in astonishment and accepted the antics that had just occurred. Kenny was snickering with Stotch about the two and suddenly I felt like an enormously awkward fifth wheel. I looked over to Tweek and found him struggling over a spoon that wouldn’t still. His jittery nerves seemed to be causing him a good amount of grief, and know that I knew his companions a little better, I could understand why. 

Kenny and Stotch kept up friendly conversation with me throughout the rest of the dinner and occasionally Tweek would put in his two cents. Half of the time I expected Tucker or Donovan to come storming out from the kitchen like before (there were crashing sounds coming from the kitchen every so often), but after thirty minutes it became pretty clear that they weren’t going to. Right when dinner was over and trays were being put away, I bolted for the door. On my way out, I heard Kenny (who had also gotten up rather quickly) exclaim from the kitchen, “Holy shit! I should’ve known that’s what you were doing in here!!” and he then proceeded to cackle mischievously. I would’ve stuck around to see what all the commotion was about, but I was reaching the end of my patience and wanted to hear what Stan had to say already.

I crept behind the cafeteria as quietly as I could and was preparing to wait in the shadows for him, but Stan had beaten me already. He was leaning up against one of the food trucks with his hands in his guard jacket and had a sheepish grin on his face when he spotted me. I immediately felt a surge of anxious anticipation.

“Hey.” He said simply, looking as nervous as I felt. It was probably because we haven’t seen each other for so long. It’s hard to know where to begin.

“Hey. Uh, so you wanted to see me?” I asked, shuffling my feet. He got off of the truck but kept his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah. I, ah, wanted to say some things. But before all that, I wanted to ask you something.” There was a long pause. “I know you said I thought I was joking, but… Did you ever really think I was serious?”

Of course he had wanted to talk about that. I felt utterly retarded. “Like I said before, after you ran away with your tail between your legs I got a pretty good idea that you were serious. Why?”

“Well, I mean, I’m pretty sure I deserve by now to know how you felt about that, once you had figured it all out.” Stan replied with failed indifference. 

“I… well, I-I was flattered.” I choked out, suddenly incapable of speech. “But you were gone. Anything I had or hadn’t felt didn’t matter by then.”

“It matters now.” Stan insisted. “Really. What did you think? Were you surprised, or did you always peg me as a gay? Were you disgusted? Talk to me, Kyle.”

“You want to know what I thought?!” I began fervidly. “I thought ‘Well shit! It’s about fucking time!’ I mean, come on! You’d blow me off for girls all of the fucking time! And I just had to sit there and pretend it didn’t get to me as bad as it did. Well, guess what! IT REALLY FUCKING GOT TO ME. Okay?! Are you happy now?!! I didn’t like seeing you with other people- girls especially. It ruined my chances at anything. So no, I’m not disgusted in your pansy-ass confession and I’m not disgusted that you’re gay. How could I be?! Here, I never thought I had a chance- not a remote fucking CHANCE- and then you go running off the next day! How fucked up is that?!!”

Drained, I fell down to my knees on the cold, hard concrete below. Stan, who was certainly taken aback by my impassioned response, carefully replied. “Then why did you pretend like it was a joke?”

“Because if I had said anything, ANYTHING, to imply that I had feelings for you only to find out that you were joking, our positions would be reversed right now.” I felt gross for saying it, but it was the truth. I had feared rejection from Stan more than anything else. 

“Why didn’t you text me any of this?” He asked.

“I wasn’t about to pour out my feelings over a goddamn phone, Stan. That’s entirely distasteful.” He chuckled softly and offered me his hand, which I took gratefully and stood up once again. But instead of letting me go, he drew me closer and wrapped his other arm around me.

“I guess we have a lot of catching up to do, huh?” He said in a more hushed tone, and a thrill of goosebumps ran across my neck.

I was tired of waiting for him. I had been waiting for him nearly all of our friendship. As a response, I tilted my head up and met his lips with mine. We kissed like that for a brief while, and after all of these years, I was finally feeling like a more whole version of myself. There were no fireworks or anything of the sort, but I felt warm, safe, and an overwhelming and somewhat foreign sense of happiness. Stan was back. He was finally back. And, for this moment at least, everything was how it should be.

Finally we parted, and Stan seemed to understand how I was feeling. He grinned at me. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah.” I responded, my tone much more humbly hushed than before. “That… That needed to happen about a decade ago.”

Realizing that it was dark and that I needed to get back before I got written up, Stan offered to walk me back to my room. I was more than a little disappointed to say goodbye, but I held on to the thought that The Hobbit was back on my bed waiting to be read. He led me once again to Room C. 

Once we were in front of the door to the room, Stan looked around and leaned in to whisper, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Take care of yourself tonight and don’t trust anyone.” He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek before heading off down the hallway.

I sighed, both relishing and feeling a little afraid of what was transforming between us, and turned to click open the door. It creaked open and I was face-to-face with someone I had all but forgotten about.

I don’t know why he was standing right in front of the door like that, but he was only a few feet away and was staring right at me as the door opened. It was the massive man before who had stalked me.

“How do you know that little runt?” He bluntly asked.

“Who are you talking about?” 

“Broflovski. How do you know him?”

It took me a moment to understand who he was talking about. “What’s it to you?”

I moved around him and headed towards my bed, noticing that neither Tweek nor Tucker were back yet.

“Answer me. How do you know Ike Broflovski?”

I weighed my options and finally decided to tell him some of the truth. “He’s my brother. Fuck off already.”

“BullSHIT. He doesn’t look anything like you! You’re a fucking ginger and he’s Canadian!” The man, who I recalled Tucker referring to as ‘Cartman’ rumbled. “There’s no such thing as a ginger Canadian!!”

There was so much wrong with his statement, I didn’t even know where to begin. “Look. I don’t really give a shit about what you think is possible or not, but if you must know he’s adopted. I would appreciate it in the future if you didn’t follow me around everywhere.”

Cartman ignored my response and went over to his own bed. “If you’re telling me the truth, I could really use you in the future. You see, your brother is pretty into the drug cartel around here and I’d appreciate it if you could get him to do some ‘fair business’ with me, if you catch my drift.”

“I don’t.” I said flatly. “And I have nothing to do with Ike’s business, as it were. Fuck off.”

He didn’t strangely didn’t respond and instead began changing his clothes for the night with his back to me. I chose that moment to get up on my own bed and do the same. When I looked back at Cartman, I was both surprised and alarmed by what I saw.

He had a bullet wound on his left shoulder and a colorful array of scars all up and down his back, much like both his arms. But what caught my eye and chilled my blood the most was his one tattoo. It was placed in the very center of his back and stretched across most of it menacingly. The design was unmistakable; a Swastika. I was rooming with a neonazi. 

It was no secret in my old life that I was of Jewish descent; I proudly celebrated all of our traditions with my family, upheld our religion as faithfully as I could, and as I have mentioned before, my mother had even had me learn Hebrew at a young age along with Ike, despite him being Canadian. All of my friends had known about my heritage, and I had never been given any real grief over it. I certainly had never met a nazi before. Until now that is.

I truly couldn’t think of anything to say other than the obvious. “So, you’re a nazi?”

Cartman turned to me. “That’s right. Why, is there a problem with it?”

I didn’t reply to him either. “What sorts of things do nazis even do nowadays?”

“Pah! You’re so ignorant! We believe in white supremacy, of course. None of those other lowly races will be tolerated. 100% Arab is the only way to go. Actually, you want to hear a secret?”

No, I really didn’t. “Sure.”

He lowered his voice dramatically. “Before I was thrown in this shithole, I lit a Synagogue on fire with my old friend Thorn. A bunch of kikes went up in flames while they were worshiping the death of Jesus or some shit like that. It was pretty funny, man! You shoulda been there. I think you, a fellow murderer, would’ve appreciated it.”

As a normal, everyday white male, I haven’t been on the butt-end of a racist assault before, so I had nothing to compare this hatred burning in my chest to. This ridiculous, stupid excuse of a man was claiming to have killed a bunch of regular people like me and then treating it like it was something to laugh about. In a split-second, I accepted the hell that was about to come.

I don’t recall flying off of the top of my bed and charging Cartman, but a moment later my fist contacted his nose with a satisfying crunch. He howled in surprised and swung at my stomach. I grimaced and brought an upper-hook to his jaw, and we both watched in amazement as he bit down on his tongue and started bleeding out ungodly portions of thick blood. He fell like a great wall to the ground in a heap, and I congratulated myself on temporarily collapsing his enormous tree-trunk of a body. Despite a broken nose and an alarming bleeding tongue, he seemed like he still had quite a fight left in him so I leapt on him and straddled him, landing blow after blow to his face. I was certain I wasn’t as strong as he was and I was pretty sure he would get the upper hand sooner rather than later, but there wasn’t much else I could do short of killing him. I punched him until his face was a mess of red until he finally landed another blow- this time, directly to my ear.

I withdrew as the clot to my ear began to cause a wretched ringing noise that spun me into a pained haze. Cartman threw me off and managed to stand, kicking me squarely in the stomach. He ripped me off the floor and kneed me there once, twice, thrice until I doubled over in pain. I had to end this quickly. 

In a panic, my eyes scoured the room for something I could use. I finally spotted the single blocky wooden chair that was pressed up against the lone desk. I snatched up the chair desperately and wielded it against my feral opponent. He barreled after me in a blind rage and when he was within range, I cracked it down onto his head before he could attack. He fell once again in a heap and I lashed out once again. I think we were both surprised by the ease in which I brought my foot down to his throat, and my mind didn’t have to think twice about applying a little extra weight; just enough not to crush anything too important.

“Alright, alright. Truce. Truce! Let me go! I won’t hit you if you won’t hit me, okay?” He gasped, spitting out a bloody tooth onto the floor. He wasn’t as much of a fighter as he first appeared; he was a wimp, a coward.

“You piece of shit,” I snarled, letting up and kicking his massive stomach with unyielding wrath. “How does it feel getting a beating from a kike?” I spat on him, not waiting for a response. “Get up. A guard should be coming in soon.”

He did just that, seeming to comply to what I requested. But there was something untrustworthy in his actions, as if he were going through the actions just to prove a point to me. A minute or two later, Tweek and Tucker slipped in. Neither Cartman nor I had bothered to clean up the blood or to retrieve his missing tooth (let alone clean our faces of blood), so both were appalled by the scene they walked in on.

“Holy fucking shit!” Tweek cried out and scrambled over to his bed as if it were a protective sanctuary from the madness before him.

Tucker just simply asked, “What the hell happened?”

“Cartman here was explaining to me his views on white supremacy.” I said behind gritted teeth.

“Well, at least clean this shit up before one of the guards gets here. Otherwise you’re both getting thrown in the hole.”

I did not know or care to know what the hole was, but I listened to him regardless and used one of my few spare socks as a rag. Cartman scrubbed off his face and moaned when he felt his nose. I smiled.

Somehow we had managed to cleanse the gruesome crime scene before the guard came. This time, it was a blond one I had seen wandering the halls before. She was rather attractive, and I wondered whether or not Stan found her to be pretty. After she clicked us in and left, I crawled up to my bed and reached under my pillow to grasp Stan’s and my book firmly. It was too late for reading; the light’s out signal had just been called. So instead I cradled it to my chest as if it were the most precious belonging I owned (actually, right now it was). 

All that had happened today had finally settled on my shoulders and I cried soundless, secret tears after the lights went off. I didn’t feel safe right now- not with Cartman the neonazi, Tweek the insomniac, and Tucker the emotionless drone. Not even with myself, who was growing colder by the minute. This wasn’t my family; these weren’t the people I belonged with. I wanted to be with Stan, even with Kenny right now, and return back to those golden days of childhood. But I simply couldn’t. And suddenly, like all things do, my problems seemed much heavier in the dark.


	5. Backstabber

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Back to Butters' POV]

Solitude is a funny thing. When your environment gets shrunk down to the size of a fishbowl your mind adapts much more quickly than you’d think. I grew up in a private school with a class of no more than 24 students. To me, they were the only world I had and would ever had. My mind had twisted into a sort of acceptance; I even convinced myself that my third grade crush was the one and only love of my life for six or so years. Of course, that all changed after I went to college. My world expanded so vastly and so rapidly, my mind had to adjust as fast as it possibly could all over again.

In a way, prison was a lot more like my childhood than I cared to admit. 

It was the dead of night; Kyle’s first Friday here. He and I weren’t sore at each other or nothing, but I could tell he wasn’t exactly taking too much of a shine to me. I was curled onto my bed, which was growing colder with every passing minute. I had fallen asleep for maybe an hour or so prior, but Cartman and Craig’s faces danced around my mind until my subconscious couldn’t take it anymore. The guilt of what I was partaking in hit me harder than any blow I’ve ever had to endure. I was my own enemy here, and there was no escape route I could rely on. Lying to Kenny had been one of the hardest struggles.

I looked over at him. He was sleeping soundly, softly snoring into the early hour. My mind, whether it was sane or not was debatable, told me that he was my only way out of this. I had to tell him. But how could I? I respected him so deeply; valued his opinion above everybody else’s. How could I confess in brutal honesty that I was currently killing our friend? I felt as if I knew Kenny, but the truth was that I didn’t. I had no idea whether that would ruin our strange relationship or solidify it. 

From what I could tell, I had two other options apart from being straightforward with Kenny. I could stay silent and try to handle this myself. I was holding up here better than I honestly predicted I would (thank God for Kenny McCormick), but I couldn’t really take on Cartman and his gang friends on my own. It was truly impossible. So if I continued to stay silent, that’d mean I’d have to continue sticking my neck out for Cartman and tearing apart Tucker’s stomach lining. Not only would I be a thief, I would also be a murderer and this was still only my first- no. Second week of prison.

And of course, my last option was to skip telling Kenny about it entirely and go straight for the higher power. I could arrange a meeting with my counselor and be honest about this whole thing. It might work out, but as soon as I say anything about it and someone gets fried, either Cartman, Valmer, or any number of their lackeys would come directly for my throat. None of these options really sounded all that appealing.

I hugged my knees tighter against my chest and allowed the dark stillness of the night to swallow me.

 

“Butters! Come on, get up already.” A voice broke my sleep like fallen glass and I felt a pair of familiar hands jar me. Kenny looked down at me with a small grin on his face. His hair was messed up enough for me to tell that he’d been moving around a lot in his sleep. “We gotta hurry if we plan on getting in the showers early.”

Kenny leaned in and swiftly kissed my forehead with all the lightheartedness in the world before grabbing my wrists and wrenching me out of bed. I groaned half-heartedly and let him lead me out of our little prison cubicle, feeling as if I was carrying both mine and Kenny’s worries at this point. Maybe he knew I was more stressed lately and was trying to overcompensate.

“Did you sleep well?” I asked him, more awake and more myself than before.

“Oddly enough, I did. Usually I have… Quite the problem with sleep, but lately I feel a lot better.” I remembered the rumors of Kenny’s delusional fits that I’d heard on my first or second day here. ...Should I really ask? “You, on the other hand, look like you’ve been through hell and back. Everything okay, Buttercup?”

“Oh, well, I s-suppose I’ve been a little st-stressed lately, eheh. It’s all… s-starting ta wear on me a bit.” I replied, feeling more than a little guilty for not being completely honest. Kenny didn’t deserve that.

“Trust me, I know how rough it can be at first. It’ll get… well, not exactly better, but you learn to adjust to all this shit better at least. But hey, for now let’s enjoy some nice and uncomplicated alone time in the showers. You can worry about all that other stuff later, right?” We were inside shower room now and Kenny took this opportunity to pin me against the wall without any trace of shame. “By the time I’m done with you, you won’t have any stress left at all. I promise.” He smirked and attacked my neck, leaving a revealing trace of marks. He preoccupied his hands with unfastening my shirt until he could pull it over my head. By then I was flushed and immediately helped him get rid of his shirt too.

As the past couple of days have gone by, Kenny and I have fallen into this early morning ritual of getting each other off. Usually it’s a blowjob, but sometimes if we’ve woken up a little late it’s merely a quick handjob. Today we had more time than usual. The lukewarm water splashed down on us as we kissed each other, hands wandering over the other at our own pace. Today I felt more melancholy than I had been in a long time, and Kenny seemed to recognize that. He dragged things out longer than he usually did, and for that I was grateful. We haven’t talked about actually having sex yet, and I was more than okay with it. I enjoyed what we had right now, and didn’t want to speed things up quite yet. I feel as if Kenny understood that too, or maybe he also wasn’t too over eager for full-blown sex at this point. Whatever the case may be, both of us appeared to be pretty content.

Usually I’m the one eagerly trying to please Kenny, but today he lightly slapped my hands away and knelt down. Despite our sexual escapades he’d never given me a proper blowjob before, so I felt a sudden thrill of excitement.

“A-Are you sure, Ken?” I asked him softly, the heat from the shower and our intimacy getting to me.

“Of course. I’ve made you do it enough times after all. It’s about time I reciprocated.” He replied, sizing me up before grasping me firmly.

I was about to comment that ‘made’ was entirely unfair, but I was distracted before I could say anything. He engulfed me and a warmth I was growing more familiar with clenched my chest. He really was something, that Kenny McCormick. I’ve never met someone quite like him before, and the more I got to know him the more of him I wanted. I wanted to vocalize my feelings, and tell him just how much I liked him, but I was weak and my words were even weaker.

He was certainly more experienced than he had lead me to believe he was. He teased the underside of my cock until my legs felt like jell-o. I gasped and even cried out as he worked me over, planting his hands firmly against my waist to prevent me from thrusting my dick down his throat. When I had cried out, I felt his mouth curl into a mischievous smile and he looked up at me. The vibrations of his laughter sent me over the edge until I was yelling profanities at him and begging him to go faster. Finally, the curtains came to a close and before I could even warn him I came. I initially felt bad about it, but Kenny seemed not to mind and swallowed my semen without much thought. 

When he was done, I pulled him up and embraced him, pausing momentarily to decide if I really wanted to kiss him after all that or not. I pushed back my doubts and did, grimacing only slightly at the taste. But Kenny seemed it find my reaction amusing and merely chuckled before kissing me back. We took our time rolling our tongues over each other’s before Kenny whined a little and bit my lip.

“Butters… I’m trying to be patient, but you’re killing me over here.” He breathed into my ear. “Please.”

Something inside of me changed, and before I knew it I slammed Kenny against the wall and kissed him roughly, my hand reaching for his erect cock. He seemed as surprised as I was by my kindled fierceness and watched as I began to kneel.

“Holy shit.” He breathed, staring at me with a fascination. “What has gotten into you lately?”

I wasn’t quite sure myself. I felt a strange animalistic intensity in me that I didn’t recognize. I didn’t reply to his question and instead took the head of his cock in my mouth and very gently scraped my teeth against his flesh. Kenny let out a throaty moan and I began to take more and more of him into my mouth. I felt him try to suppress a slight thrust, so I gripped his sides firmly in an attempt to keep him still. I looked up at him and made eye contact. He was an absolute wreck; red-faced and needy. I suppressed a grin and sped up my pace. 

“Butters… Hey, uh… I’m gonna…” Kenny cut himself off and I felt his hand run through my hair desperately. A moment later, his cock pulsed in my mouth and he came. I did my best to swallow it all, but a good amount of his semen escaped down my chin. He grinned at me, coming down from his high and I got back up on my feet. He started washing my shoulders and back and I felt as content as I could in my current situation. 

It took me a while to realize that once again we weren’t actually alone in the shower room. There were actually a good number of people in here by now; Stenson, Donovan (who was casting us glances from time to time, clearly recalling the last time he walked in on us), Tucker, some black men I recognized from Valmer’s gang, and even Kyle. While Kyle seemed stunned in disbelief at Kenny and I, not a single one of them had interrupted us. I was both disturbed and oddly thankful. 

“Kenny! Did you notice everyone else in here?!” I asked him with a panicked voice.

“Yeah. Why? You didn’t?” Kenny replied with that grin of his. He knew I hadn’t noticed and he was very clearly enjoying my mild hysteria. He also seemed to enjoy Kyle openly staring at us.

“Hey, dude! How’s your morning going? Bet mine’s been going better!” Kenny called out to the newest addition to our prison. I watched as Kyle’s face reddened and felt like mine was doing the same. Kenny was anything but subtle.

“Clearly.” Kyle replied a little sharply and looked at me oddly. I decided then was a good time to speed up our shower.

I quickly finished cleaning up and stepped out, toweling myself off before locating my clothes. I felt Kyle’s gaze follow me with interest. I hadn’t noticed it before, but he had some pretty serious bruising littered all over his body, and since his was only wearing a pair of boxers I could see just about everything. He had to of been in multiple fights since he came here because the shades of them varied.

“I didn’t know you and Kenny were this close. I mean, I suspected…” He trailed off and then addressed Kenny, who was still rinsing out shampoo from his hair. “I thought you were more of a boobs kind of guy, Ken. You never said anything about playing for the other team before.”

“Never really found a need to bring it up, honestly.” Kenny stated, hopping out of the shower. “I like people. That’s really all there is to it.” He looked Kyle up and down and noticed what I had. “Holy FUCK! What happened to you?!”

“Nothing much, just making some acquaintances. But anyway, what I meant to say is,” Kyle began, lowering his voice and looking around before continuing. “You had plenty of opportunities to tell me about your sexual orientation when I was busy bitching about mine. Why didn’t you say anything?”

I was startled by this and looked over at Kenny, whose face revealed nothing. He looked like he wanted to pry about the bruising, but instead he held his tongue. “Because it’s like you said. You were too busy worrying about your own gay angst. I didn’t want you to start worrying about mine also. Plus, it wasn’t really as big of a deal to me as it was to you. I wasn’t in love with my best friend, after all.”

“You know what? It’s too early to talk about stuff like this. But hey, I’m happy that you and Stotch found each other. Just wish you were a little quieter about it.” He snapped, stalking off to a mirror.

Kenny laughed it off and looked over at me. “Don’t mind him too much. He’s never been much of a morning person.”

Kenny and I finished getting dressed in the showers and stepped outside for an early morning walk on the field. It was as cold as usual, but the sun was bright today and the rays from it fought down the crawling chill and prevented it from settling on my bones. 

I had the urge to hold Kenny’s hand, but I felt as if that would be too normal; too innocent for this place. After some hesitation, I decided to ask him. “C-Can I… I mean, would it be alright if we held hands?”

An inexplicable expression came across Kenny’s face before he smiled and grasped my hand. “Of course.”

“Um… So, do you mind if I ask about what Kyle was talking about a little while ago?”

“Well, what about it?”

“He’s… gay?” I inquired, feeling somehow intimidated by my own question.

“Is he! Kyle’s the gayest of the gay! -But it’s kind of a secret, fucked up story. If you swear on your life not to say anything, I’ll tell you about it some.” Kenny replied jubilantly.

I swore as solemnly as I could and Kenny launched into his tale. “So I had two really close friends growing up; Kyle and this other guy named Stan. I was pretty good friends with both of them, but Stan and Kyle were practically inseparable. Everyone in our school knew that wherever Stan was, Kyle wasn’t far away and vice-versa. Anyway, both of them had growing feelings for the other and both of them had confided in me about it. It came to a point where it was just getting to be ridiculous and finally I got it onto Stan’s head one night that he had to tell Kyle about his feelings before he lost his chance. Stan listened and told Kyle he loved him, but Kyle somehow got it into his head that he was lying and laughed in his face. So Stan ran away and Kyle hadn’t heard from him since. Neither had I, until a couple of years ago. 

“Now here’s the clincher; guess where Stan is now? That’s right! He ended up here too, as a prison guard. His full name is Stan Marsh. And now that he and Kyle are reunited, a soap opera’s about to unfold before our very eyes! Kyle saw him for the first time since he ran away the day he arrived, and I’ve been keeping tabs on the situation since then.”

I took a moment to absorb the grand tale Kenny had told. It was crazy and full of odd coincidences, but I felt a strong jolt of sympathy for Kyle. I’ll admit, I didn’t really know what to make of him at first. An awful part of me almost despised him for knowing Kenny in a way that I didn’t, but he seemed harmless enough. But now I knew his interests were elsewhere and my feelings of jealousy died down some.

“Oh geez, that’s just insane.” I commented, looking down at my feet as we walked together. I kicked a stone and watched as it sailed through the air.

“Hey, Butters.” Kenny began, stopping his pace suddenly and stopping me with him by our held hands. “I know you said you were stressed, but you’ve been acting really strange lately. You’re almost never like that during our… time in the shower. Are you having doubts about us?”

I was a little taken aback, even though I kind of expected something like this. “What? No! I-I really like you Ken, it’s just. I don’t know.” I racked my brain for an excuse. “I-I had a pretty rough night, I guess. I had a… nightmare. And also… I g-guess it kinda puts me off a little that we don’t have any privacy. I don’t really like everyone seein’ all that, you know?”

Kenny’s blank face told me that he didn’t. “Are you embarrassed?”

“N-No,” I began. “I just mean that, well, I don’t really want everybody else ta see you like that. I… I want it to be just me.”

He seemed to appreciate my explanation and squeezed my hand with a smile. He was about to speak when suddenly the prison’s intercom blared out.

“ERIC CARTMAN AND KYLE BROFLOVSKI. PLEASE REPORT TO THE COUNSELOR’S OFFICE.”

Kenny and I exchanged worried looks. I got an almost nauseating sense of deja-vu, despite not being paged myself. This place was practically the more adult version of high school. 

“What the hell is that about?” I asked in a panic. My nerves overreacted by any slight mention or sight of Cartman and this was nothing but foreboding. I had all but forgotten Kyle’s sorry state this morning; I hoped it had nothing to do with why both he and Cartman were called in.

“Absolutely no idea.” Kenny breathed. “Come on. We should go wait in the hall for him.”

I didn’t really like the possible risk of running into Cartman, but I decided to suck it up and follow him. Kenny and I fast-walked through the field and towards the main building until we stopped in front of the counselor’s office. Shamelessly, Kenny quietly pressed his ear to the door.

Ms. Testaburger’s low voice sliced through the silence like a knife. “Cartman, this is the last time you’re going to pull shit like this, I swear to God. If I catch you smacking around the newer inmates again, I’ll rip your balls off. Would you like for me to rip your ballsack off? I could do it, you know. I wouldn’t lose my job. I wouldn’t even get a cut in my paycheck.”

There was an audible snort, and a hearty chuckle from behind the door. “I like it when you talk dirty to me, ho.” 

From the context of the conversation, Kenny and I had arrived a little late. “That’s it, Cartman. You’re done. Two shots. One more, and I’m sending you straight to your favorite place again. Solitary just isn’t the same without our fat little nazi racist rotting in it.”

“Fucking cunt!” Cartman screamed, and something was knocked over. “That little cocksucker was the one who provoked me again anyways! He’s talks too much for his own damn good.”

“That sounds like a whole lot of your problem.” Ms. Testaburger growled. “Broflovski, is there anything you want to contribute, since you apparently talk so much?”

Kyle spoke up. “Well, what happened was this: Cartman heated the tip of a pen and tried to ‘tattoo’ a swastika on my ass while I was asleep. So I tried to strangle him again. We got in a huge fight that I would have won if his demonic thug hadn’t of shown up.” 

The manager let out a huge sigh. “You two need to stop this immediately. I’m already swamped enough with everyone else’s problems, and now I have to deal with counseling you two because we’re so understaffed! After another one of these incidents, I’m assigning you both to Anger Management Group Therapy starting Monday. If you two get in a fight before then, I’m throwing you both in solitary confinement. Cartman, you will additionally attend Bible Study Sessions each Wednesday and Sunday. No excuses. I’m not your fucking mom, so get over it.”

“My name is NOT GODDAMN CARTMAN! IT’S ERIC, YOU FUCKING BITCH!!” Another slam resounded from the room. 

“Broflovski, you’re dismissed. Eric and I need to… talk.” 

Both Kenny and I were surprised by her sudden dismissal and Kenny leaped away from the door just in time before Kyle swung it open. He stepped out and shut the door with a heavy thud before noticing us.

“Why the hell can’t you two stay out of my business?” He hissed in a low tone, beckoning us to follow him down and away from the office.

“Umm, hello? That answer should be obvious.” Kenny retorted. “I don’t want one of my best friends getting fucked up by Cartman. That guy is bad news.”

“Seriously b-bad news.” I added under my breath.

“I can handle myself around here, Kenny. If that little shit hadn’t of jumped me from behind…”

“Well, that’s just it, Kyle! It’s never ‘just Cartman’. It’s always Cartman and demon-spawn anti-christ. Separately, they’re manageable, but they play dirty when they’re together.”

Kyle went silent for a long moment before glancing over at me. “Do you mind if I talk to Kenny for a moment? There’s something I need to discuss with him in private.”

His request somehow made me feel sick to my stomach, but since he had been so polite about it, I agreed and walked a little farther down the hall. When they were finished talking, Kenny caught up to me.

“What was that all about?” I asked him.

“Probably nothing. Just Kyle being paranoid again is all.” He replied, not really acting like he wanted to elaborate.

The day went one the same as all the others after that, until during lunchtime. 

“Is your stomach acting up again?” Donovan asked Tucker, who was sitting down with a pained look on his face. He’s been experiencing stomach-related pain for about four days now, but today seems to have been significantly worse. Every time I look at him I feel waves of guilt.

“What do you think, asshole?” He groaned, taking a long drink from a water glass. “I guess you’ve landed yourself a promotion for today.”

“What? No! Come on, Craig. It’s just food poisoning or something. If you stand up, I bet you’ll feel better!”

“Standing up doesn’t automatically cure food poisoning, genius.” Tucker snorted. “But maybe you’re right. This food is malnourished at best. Maybe after six whole years of being in this dump I’m finally getting properly sick off of the food.” 

“Let me take you to the doctor, at least.” Donovan pleaded. “Maybe she can figure out what’s making you sick.”

“Ha! Don’t hold your breath. Even I could be a better doctor than that whore Cotswolds, and the only experience I’ve ever had with medical bullshit was when an officer of mine took a bullet to the shoulder.”

“Even so. Come on. I’ll carry you if I have to!” Donovan exclaimed, already attempting to pick up Tucker without an answer. 

“Fuck off! There’s no way in hell I’ll let you carry me.”

“Aww, Craig! Please?”

“NO.”

“The hell! I fucked you, I might as well carry you to a goddamn clinic too!”

Kenny guffawed loudly and I let out a small laugh. Pip looked like he had been slapped. Tucker basked in his humiliation in silence and finally allowed Donovan to snatch him up (although his did exchange a few harsh words about being carried ‘bridal style’) and take him out the door. 

When he disappeared and the rest of us quietly went back to work, my mind started to both hope and fear that Doctor Cotswolds would do an X-Ray scan of Tucker’s stomach. About an hour later, both Tucker and Donovan returned. No news.

That night, my nerves were on a complete fritz. I tossed and turned until Kenny’s voice interrupted me. 

“Butters?”

“Ken,” I began. “How much t-trouble would we be in if we, uh, snuck out of here right now?”

“A lot. Want to?”

I was damned anyway. “Yeah. Know any places we could go?”

“A couple.” He laughed and we both rolled off of our mattresses. Crouching, we snuck out of the dorm room and went way down a hall I hadn’t bothered exploring yet. Curious, I followed Kenny closely until we reached the end of the hallway. 

“A chapel?” I asked.

“What other place would be guaranteed empty in a prison?” He snickered. “Come on.”

The door was open (as all Catholic places of worship are generally supposed to be) and we managed to slip in unnoticed. As Kenny promised, the room was entirely empty. It was a somewhat dusty little red room with cobwebbed images of the Stations of the Cross on the walls. There was a little podium on the stage, about six rows of pews, a grand piano with scratch marks visible from clear across the room, Bibles everywhere, the smallest altar imaginable, and a sad little plastic ‘tabernacle’. There must be a large Catholic population here in prison or something.

I felt immediately heavy upon entering this place. My faith hasn’t been very strong lately; at least, not in a strictly Catholic sense. Mostly because of my homosexuality, but also because of the complete and utter distasteful way my parents and my school had shoved it down my throat. Maybe I’ll become a Methodist or something, but for right now, all I knew was that Catholicism was just too much.

Kenny smiled at me and grabbed my hand, and with a thrill of adrenaline I let him lead me to the piano. We sat down behind it. Maybe it was the oppression of the Church I left, or maybe just my stress, but when I looked at him, I kind of lost my mind. All of a sudden I was kissing him and ripping off his prison uniform. He was completely shocked but didn’t say anything as I undressed us both. 

I was kissing him feverishly when he finally pulled away. “Butters. What are we doing here? I mean, do you really want this to go further?”

I didn’t really think so before but now… “Yes. Come on Kenny. Fuck me.”

He seemed taken aback but grinned mischievously at me as my face turned red. “Right here? Right now? In this holy church? I knew you were kinky but this!”

I grinned back at him. “Well, w-what are you waitin’ for, then?”

Kenny had his own moment of hesitation before settling on kissing me again. Immediately, the two of us seemed to ignite as we got more and more into it. I dug my fingers through his hair and let out a hushed moan as he bit my lower lip. He had a quick intake of breath as I let my mouth leave an angry red hickey on his neck. Maybe it was because of the late hour, maybe it was because I knew something big was about to come, but regardless my senses felt heightened and I breathed in the musky scent of the dust and the old hymn books that surrounded us. I straddled Kenny’s waist somewhat bashfully despite everything we’ve already done together and took a moment to really look at him. His hair was rumpled and an overall mess and one of his earrings was on the floor somewhere, but he was how I wanted him to be. I wouldn’t have changed a thing about him. He looked up at me with a playful gleam in his eyes before inching my body back marginally. I took the hint when I felt something brush against my ass.

I smirked at him and rolled my eyes in mock exasperation before standing up and pulling him with me. He seemed surprised by my sudden decision, but I felt since it was a first for us it should be done with at least some level of decency. I carefully placed him down on the little wooden piano bench and bent down to kiss him gently. His body was a little too big for it. I honestly had no idea whatsoever what to do with myself or himself and my heart caught in my throat at what might happen next. 

“You know,” Kenny whispered. “I think you’d fit on this bench much better.” And with that, he slid off of the bench and slid me onto it. “Besides. I need to get you prepared, don’t I?”

“H-How?” I asked dumbfounded. I hadn’t thought to bring something that could serve as a lubricant.

“Easy.” He stooped down and stuck his hand under the scratched piano. He pulled out a bottle of white lotion that had been taped down to it. “You find all the shit you need in prison if you know where to look.”

I was a little alarmed to be using community lube, but Kenny seemed to think that there was no problem with it and I ultimately trusted him. He grasped my cock firmly and stroked me until I was hard and then got a good amount of lotion in his hand. And then, he finally touched me where I was burning to be felt. I breathed out a shuddery gasp and threw my head back as he felt around inside of me. It was an entirely new sensation for me and it was a huge relief when all the anxiety I had leading up to this moment shattered. Kenny informed me that he was going to put another finger in and I attempted to loosen my muscles a little for him. 

Perhaps a minute, maybe two passed before Kenny decided I was probably ready. My nerves were starting to act up again and I looked up at him with as much determination as I could. Kenny looked like he was moved by my feeble display of courage before aligning himself with me and elevating my hips slightly. 

“Are you ready?” He purred. I gave a small smile and a short nod before I felt him bury himself into me. I let out a small cry and dug my fingers into his shoulders. He gave me a moment to adjust to the sensation before going in a little further. My blood was boiling and I felt like I was going to combust. Finally, Kenny managed to fit all of his cock inside of me and I fell into a dark sort of ecstasy. I glanced down and watched his cock disappear inside of me; almost as if I was watching it rather than experiencing it. After a slower, gentler pace, we got into a complete unadulterated frenzy. There was an almost animalistic side of me that was coming out that I had never seen before, and Kenny seemed to feed off of that. I met his gaze and his eyes appeared to be blazing with a kind of hunger as he slammed his hips into me. A shock of static ran through me and I cried out as I orgasmed. Kenny continued to roll his hips at a quick pace before he reached his own climax. I felt a ripple run through my body and he groaned. A moment later, he collapsed on me; his head resting on my stomach. And then another moment later, the poor abused piano bench underneath us gave way and broke, sending both Kenny and I tumbling to the floor. Some shocked seconds passed until the two of us broke out into startled laughter.


	6. Serial Killer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Kenny's POV]

The last thing I was expecting after fucking Butters was for the piano bench to give out underneath us. We dropped to the floor immediately and snorted with laughter in-between tumbles. We stayed like that, rolling around on the floor naked, crying with laughter, for who knows how long. Until we heard a loud, overly dramatic sigh.

Honestly, I was expecting this. He’s always lurking about here. 

“Would you two asshats shut up already? I’m trying to read here.” An annoyed drawl resounded throughout the room. I glanced sideways over at Butters who was quickly trying to shield himself and locate where the voice was coming from. I had to admit, watching his panicked little flushed face color with embarrassment was something I never wanted to miss out on.

I turned to face the man who had spoken. He was a much older man, with a pair of black rimmed skinny glasses and a permanent scowl etched into his forehead. His heavily folded wrinkles betrayed that he was about in his late sixties- or perhaps those wrinkles were caused by the stress of his job. He had been here for as long as I have, at the very least. He wore the garments of a priest- white collar and form-fitting black clothing, because that was kind of what he was. Officially, at least. He did a shit job at it.

Currently, he had his slender ankle propped up on his knee and was flipping through a copy of The Insider. “Did you hear that Kaitlyn slept with one of the bachelors?”

“Go away, Garrison.” I replied tiredly. I just wanted to bask in this post-orgasm euphoria with Butters. Was that so much to ask?

“Well, EXCUSE ME.” He huffed. “I didn’t just waltz into YOUR sacred holy place and have sex all over it, now did I?! I didn’t slap around MY man-meat all over your godly property, DID I?! No! I just merely waited patiently until you two were done, like any decent man woulda done. But then you had to go pounding my bench to death too! Well, FUCK YOU TOO, YOU REDNECK SOMBITCH!!

“Um, p-pardon me, mister.” Butters spoke up after he had successfully slipped back on his open-throated orange prison uniform. “B-But, who the heck are you?”

“Who the heck am I?! Why, I’m your holy fuckin’ priest, that who I am!!” Garrison announced. “My job is to protect the church from nasty little butt-fuckers like yourselves. If I’m not here to protect God’s sanctuary at all times from heathen like yourselves, then there’d be gay sex everywhere in here! I mean, JUST LOOK AT IT. It’s like begging for a gay sex orgy party, isn’t it?!”

“Um. No?” Butters tried.

“NO?! Come on! Everybody who knows ANYTHING knows that God hates the gays! And gays have sex in here just to stick it to the man. Hell, I’ve done it before!”

Butters blinked. 

Garrison continued on. “Oh yeah! I got all the meat-swinging gay men to fuck me in here! It was the best night of my life.” He sighed and flipped the page in his magazine. “This chapel has seen a lot of action, all right. But I’ve never seen you two in here before. Not even that redneck bitch who we ALL KNOW plays for every goddamn team there is.”

As much as I was enjoying Garrison spilling his subdued gay pride out to Butters, I had to cut this conversation short before someone of actual importance heard the commotion. “Don’t tell him all of my secrets, Garrison. I want to keep this one around! Good night.”

He looked up sharply. “I better see you and your butt-buddy in church this Sunday, you little redneck hillbilly fuck.”

I laughed and pulled on my clothes. “We’ll just have to see about that!”

I grabbed Butters’ hand and escorted him out. “Sorry about the company, again. There’s not a lot of privacy here in prison.”

He beamed and wore his peculiar little smile. “I think it was perfect regardless.”

Something about his words pulled out a strong tug of affection from me. We walked together in a comfortable silence back to our mattresses and I kissed him goodnight before slinking into my own bed. I stayed awake for a little longer than I usually did, tossing the events of the night throughout my mind. He was so beautiful to me. It was practically impossible to find someone as genuine and as sweet as Butters, and a part of me was so scared that I’d do something to fuck it up. Now that I had him, losing him would feel like the most purest agony.

I sighed and rolled around on my side, reaching under my bed for my hidden stash. Butters didn’t know it, but I knew a guy who smuggled heroin in prison and hooked me up regularly. I felt like it was something he’d probably get strung up about, so I mostly only snorted it when I knew I could get away with it (which was usually not very often). If I didn’t take it at least three times a day I’d break out into a cold sweat and shake uncontrollably. Normally, I’d be able to get high during my time at the library, so it hasn’t really presented any problems with Butters yet. I clumsily poured out a line on my night stand and snorted it. Butters looked ghostly in the moonlight, sleeping as quietly as the dead. I felt my lips curve into a smile and laid back down, tucking away my little plastic bag in the compartment under my bed before drifting off.

The following morning, I woke up early as usual and took another line. I tried shaking Butters awake, but he insisted that he wanted to sleep a little longer. I laughed lightly, joked about his inability to wake himself up at a decent enough time, made my way alone to the showers and got ready for the day.

“Where’s your little prag?” Tucker asked me with a rasp as he was toweling off from his shower. He had the most common sense out of all of us to wear rubber sandals here. There floors weren’t exactly ideal.

Running a hand through my messy wet hair, I replied, “Sleeping in. We were up kinda late last night.”

“Oh.” He deadpanned, a knowing glint in his stone cold eyes. Donovan had a serious pair of balls, deciding to pursue that guy. He hadn’t been his usual stark serious self all week (there was a strange sense of lifelessness to him that dulled who he was before), but even so. I knew Tucker pretty well from the prison we were in before this one, but even I wouldn’t have attempted something like that. He’s a strange guy. Only a select few people knew, for instance, that he had a tramp stamp. His ex wife’s name swirled in ink right above his ass cheeks. You’d think inmates would know about that kind of stuff, since we see each other naked every day, but that wasn’t the case with Tucker. Tucker was fast, for one. Every morning he’d rip off his clothes as if the Devil was on his heels and he’d leap into the shower before you could even nod to him in greeting. He was a pretty self-conscious kind of guy when it came to being in a large group of nakedness.

I suppose Butters was too, but with him it was in a different way. Instead of being embarrassed, you got the feeling that he saw it as being more immoral than anything else. Like he was doing the world a disfavor for stripping. As if. 

I know that Butters had questions- that he had heard certain stories about me, but I hadn’t been ready to forfeit up that little piece of mind he gave me every day. A peace of mind even drugs couldn’t quite maintain for very long. I sighed to myself, gave Tucker a farewell, and headed out. I ran into Butters on my way who was hurrying to the showers (he had slept in like I had suspected) and I gave him a quick smile and a kiss as we crossed paths. I’d meet him in the kitchen for breakfast, but before that I had some time to kill. I pushed open the doors to the courtyard and a frosty breeze swallowed me, chilling me through to the bone. I hugged my arms and trudged out to my favorite place in the whole prison. 

I had taken Butters here before only briefly. It was in the very corner of the tall barbed fences right next to a storage shed. Sometimes in the spring and summer clover and dandelions would sprout up here and I would just sit for hours. Today, everything was dead except for some lucky patches of grass. I bent down to sit and a small wave of peace enveloped me. There was a secret about this clearing that only I knew.

There’s a church a number of blocks away from here. It’s ironic really. Sometimes I’ imagine the priest pointing over at my prison and saying in his sermons, “Now don’t you sin. Otherwise you’ll end up like those nasty heathens.” The church bells toll every day, all day long. There pretty quiet from this far away, but I can hear them if I concentrate. You can only hear them on this part of the prison’s campus. When Butters was with me, I had sat him down here and told him about them. But no matter how quiet he was and how much he listened, he couldn’t hear them. So I plopped down on my back, letting the wind slap around my unruly hair while I listened to the bells sing their melancholic hymns. I miss the music from the outside. Sure, we’re allowed to have mp3 players and ipods (with strictly only music. No cameras, apps, internet, or ways of reaching the outside. The state had made that call about four years ago, and I’ve been thankful ever since) but it wasn’t even remotely the same. I missed being a disc jockey. I missed partying and playing music and drinking with my two best friends (who are oddly in prison with me).

After listening to the tolling of the bells for a little longer, I pulled out my ipod, put in my crappy earphones and scrolled through the state’s approved list of songs. Feeling somewhat nostalgic, I put on Lana Del Rey’s song Ride and relaxed. Sure, it was kind of a girly song, especially for prison. But the lyrics were relatable and Karen and I liked her voice. My mind was slowly drifting off to the life I had led before; back when my day-to-day concerns revolved around getting food stamps and taking care of my little sister. I missed her fiercely; more than anything else. Sometime around last year she had stopped coming for monthly visits. 

My mind began to spin into its normal pattern of guilt-soaked depression, but waned suddenly when I heard a noise behind me. Something had fallen over in the storage shed. Had one of the guards left it open? Curiously, I walked around to the little rickety door. It was slightly ajar. They must’ve hired a new guard or something. Leaving that thing open wasn’t a smart idea. I find myself slowly reaching out for the door handle but another noise stopped me in my tracks. There truly was someone in there. Steeling my resolve, I curled my outstretched hand into a fist and pounded the door open.

To say I was surprised would only be half true. Inside of the little shack was Kyle and Stan. They had been very obviously making out, but had been rendered frozen from terror of whoever had interrupted them. Kyle’s hand was down Stan’s pants. I let out a little awkward laugh and came in, shutting the door behind me with a comforting click.

“Am I interrupting something?” I asked coyly, creeping over to the pair. I loved fucking with them.

“What are you doing over here, Ken?” Stan asked back with a little hint of alarm in his tone.

“I like to chill over in the corner of the prison here, right behind the shack.” I gestured with my thumb. “I heard some noises, so I thought I’d check it out. You don’t have to worry though,” I added to ease Kyle’s concerned, pinched eyebrows. He had removed his hand at some point. Bummer. “I’m literally the only person that’s ever over here. Well. Except now.”

I’m sure under normal circumstances this would have been something dreaded to walk in on. But since it was my two sexually repressed high school friends, I couldn’t be happier. Things were working out. Some way, some how. I suddenly wanted to find Butters again.

“Glad to know things are still going good for you two though! Guess I better get back to my own gay lover!” I chuckled, turning to head out.

“Wait a sec, Ken.” Kyle said, seeming to think of something all of a sudden. “If you’d be interested, would you and Stotch like to come to Stan’s educational class? I mean, both of you have pretty decent backgrounds as it is, but you’d be good examples for everyone else. And it’s important to keep your brain active, you know.” 

“Why sure.” I agreed. “I’ve got nothing else better to do anyway. And Butters would be thrilled to do something different. So. I’ll run it by him.”

I left with a carefree wave and headed over to the kitchens. As soon as I walked in the back door, Tucker’s voice was audible. 

“What the hell is this shit?”

“I told you.” Stevens, the blonde guard I knew too well, had come in with the new food shipment. “The state doesn’t want to pay for your luxuries anymore. So now you serve this instead.”

“It looks like diarrhea.” Tucker stated flatly in his standard deadpan tone. “I am not serving this. This isn’t even edible.”

I opened a crate to see what the big fuss was about. Sure enough, there were bags and bags of brown slop that probably was meant to just be nuked in a microwave. It looked horrid and probably smelled even worse. I mean, sure. Most prison’s served a wretched meal of mixed foods that didn’t belong together and had hair in them. But not this prison. At least, not until now. I’ll probably mourn the loss of Tucker’s meals for the rest of my miserable life. 

Stevens smiled at me when she noticed my presence and ran a hand through her curly hair. “Sorry about the downgrade, McCormick. I know it sucks, but hopefully it won’t be forever.”

I didn’t really feel like talking to her right now, so I just nodded in understanding and she headed out. Tucker rolled his eyes.

“That bitch has it bad, you know. You should sleep with her. Maybe she’ll give us better food next time.”

I laughed. “Fuck that. What could one prison guard do anyway?”

“Um, talk to her butt buddy, Testaburger? They go drinking together on the weekends, you know. She could convince her to put more money into food instead of this stupid education program.”

He had a point. “Maybe I’ll talk to her later.”

He sighed heavily and ripped open a bag of the mixed food. “Right. Talk.”

I helped him pour some of the food bags into the big pots as everyone else except for Kyle filtered in. Butters was the last to arrive, and by then we were nearly done. 

“Hey Ken!” Butters chirped cheerfully, giving me a quick kiss. “Sorry I’m so late.” 

“Are you awake now?” I laughed.

“Yeah! Freezing showers always shock the sleep right out of me.” Butters sighed, which was weird for him. It was almost too sophisticated. 

“Hey,” I began, snaking an arm around his waist. “How would you like to go to Sta- Marsh’s education class after this?”

Tucker snapped his head around to give me a betrayed glare from his fold-up chair. He was able to stand and work for only a couple minutes at a time before he had to rest. Whether he was sitting or standing, Donovan would be bustling around in an upset panic. Whatever Tucker was experiencing was really getting to everyone, especially him. Tweak’s nerves were more wild (probably because his lord and savior Tucker was acting even weaker than him) and Butters just seemed distracted. It was amazing how strong the herd mentality was in prison.

“O-Okay!” Butters said as we headed out to the cafeteria’s lunch line (or in this case, breakfast) to serve the other inmates. “I kinda miss college, so that’ll be nice.”

We piled the food on to serving trays and watched as inmates made angry grumbles over the quality change. It’s was no one’s fault but Testaburger’s. And kind of indirectly Stan. After we finished serving, Butters and I helped clean up for a bit, took off our aprons, and headed over to Stan’s ‘classroom.’ 

The little room was certainly put together by Stan, that much was obvious. There was a little misshapen horseshoe of all kinds of chairs around a homely and severely scratched up chalkboard. The word ‘FAGGOT’ had been etched in the bottom right corner but had been sharpied over. Now that I think about it, I might’ve scratched it there, back when this was an empty rec room. I can’t remember. 

So far, only three people were in the room. Stan was at the desk in the back pretending to read a thick psychology text, but really just observing the inmates already in the room. Kyle was at a chair near (but not next to) Stan’s desk, looking through some sort of paperwork with a pretty serious expression on his face. And Pip was there, seated directly in the middle of the colony of miscellaneous chairs. Butters and I took the chairs in the closest corner to the exit. Butter’s was a pale yellow plastic chair and mine was attached to a wooden desk with the words “Fuck this shit’ scrawled on it in pen. I pointed to it and Butters giggled.

We all waited a little longer and some other inmates filtered in. Black, Warren, Tweak (which must’ve upset Tucker), Ike, Pete, Firkle… And at the last moment, Thorn slipped in.

Damien Thorn. I had a bone to pick with him. I felt Butters tense up immediately and the two of them exchanged a suffocating glare. Thorn had closely shaved the half of his hair Butters had clawed out and trimmed the other side so it looked intentional. Honestly, I wouldn’t object if Butters ripped out that side too. I loved his innocent personality, but there was something so captivating about him when he stands up for himself. I looked over at him reassuringly and put my hand on his. He accepted it gratefully and we watched Thorn take an empty seat near the back.

After he sat down, Stan and Kyle stood up and walked around to the front of the class. “Alright everyone. Welcome to the newly upgraded educational program our prison has finally decided to provide. About fucking time. 

“So, we’re going to start it off simple. Ky- Broflovski will pass around some books. I just want you to read out loud the first paragraph so I can see where you all are at.”

Kyle grabbed a large stack of To Kill A Mockingbird and passed out copies like Stan had asked. When we were all given a book, Stan spoke again. “Pirrup, would you like to begin? Just read the first paragraph and then I’ll call on somebody else.”

Pip cleared his throat. “When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow. When it healed, and Jem’s fears of never being able to play football were assuaged…”

This pattern continued for a while; Stan would randomly call on inmates and they’d read (to the best of their ability) the passages that came next. When Stan was satisfied, he had Kyle, who was taking his job extremely seriously, pass around printed out articles. 

“Alright. Since you’re all at different reading levels, we’ll have Broflovski read this article out loud for us. Is that fine with you?” Stan directed his question to Kyle who couldn’t be anymore visibly thrilled. He cleared his throat and began reading out the article.

It was about illegal immigration; clearly a persuasive opinion-based paper about how the US should make its citizenship requirements easier for foreigners. Several inmates shifted uncomfortably at the topic; some of the Hispanic population were almost certainly illegal immigrants and they probably had quite a lot to say on the topic. As Kyle concluded his recitation, Stan spoke again. 

“Thank you, Broflovski. Now, what are your opinions on illegal immigration? Do you agree or disagree with this article?”

The class fell into a tense, uncomfortable silence that was uncannily nostalgic of high school. Kyle looked like he was about to break his chair with all of the pent up opinions he was just dying to share. Finally, Black rescued us from the silence.

“I agree with this article.” He stated.

“Okay. Why?” Stan asked.

“Well, from what I’ve heard and what this here says, the tests are too hard on foreigners. Most Americans born here can’t even pass those tests. Why should a foreigner?”

“It’s about respect more than anything else.” Pip piped up. “I mean, if you really wanted to go to a certain country to live, you should just do whatever possible to achieve that. Even if it’s difficult.”

“Fuck that! Have you even seen the citizenship test? That shit’s ridiculous!” Ike added.

“Well, all I’m saying is that if going to America was your number one goal, then you’ll find ways to come here legally.” Pip rebutted.

“What if your life was in danger and the only way you’d save yourself and your family was if you were able to get to America quickly? Without taking some retarded test.” snapped Ike. “Would you wait to get approved by the state? Fuck no! You’d save your family first!”

“Shame on you for putting yourself in that position then!” Pip cried.

“May I say something?” Thorn spoke suddenly, interrupting Ike’s furious comeback.

“Go ahead.” Stan said, watching the exchange carefully.

“Well, what if.” Thorn began. “What if… Border patrol just executed any person they saw trying to cross into America. Point blank. And we could execute anyone who wasn’t a proper American. That way, this wouldn’t even be an issue anymore.”

A heavy silence fell once again upon the class. But this time, it was in cold dread. People were really this fucked up.

“Are you serious?” Pip asked, turning to face him.

“Yeah. We’d be protecting our people, after all. And all the other countries keep telling us how we have to start minding our own business and not get involved. What better way to start?” Thorn stated calmly with an irritatingly smooth voice.

What happened next was kind of mind blowing. Pip general expression of pure shock and uncertainty morphed like the metamorphosis of a caterpillar to a moth. His frown relaxed and his eyes shined with a complete emotion one could only describe as understanding. His gaze pierced Thorn’s and for a while they just stared. Finally he spoke.

“You’re right.”

Everyone was too shell-shocked to come up with proper retorts. “Does anyone have anything else to say?” Stan prodded. “Anyone? Come on guys, really?”

Silence.

“Alright, well. In that case, I guess that closes the discussion.” Jesus Christ. Under no circumstances should prisoners EVER be in charge of running our country.

The lesson went on like that for a while, mostly ending with fucked up ideas that Thorn and Pip would come up with and agree on. It was jarring, really. Finally the class came to a close for the day and Butters and I bolted out. I heard Pip call a faint “Wait up!” to Thorn as we ran off.

“That was ridiculous!” I exclaimed to him as we managed to make a good enough distance from Pip and Thorn.

“Y-Yeah. I didn’t know Pip was that messed up. I mean, I knew he was kind of an extremist, what with his global warming background and all but this is just silly.” Butters squeezed my hand.

“A global warming activist and an Antichrist. It somehow works.” I laughed, shaking my head in exasperation.

We still had a solid amount of time before lunch preparations (especially now that we didn’t actually have to make any meals. The food was utter shit but it was convenient.) so I took Butters back to our little living quarters. I wasn’t working at the library today, so we just hung out on his bed. 

“Hey Butters. I wanna show you something.” I announced, getting up to rifle through one of my drawers. I pulled out crochet needles and several balls of yarn. “If you’re sick of those shitty pee-stained pillow covers, I can teach you how to make one for yourself.”

“Really?!” Butters eyes grew wide. “Gee, Kenny. I didn’t know you knew how to crochet!”

“Oh, I know everything.” I winked. “Let’s start with the simple single stitch.” I let Butters select the yarn he wanted and he picked out the kind I had sort of figured and hoped that he would. It was the sort that faded into several different shades; from dark blue to indigo blue to sky blue to white. That yarn kind of reminded me of him anyway. 

He caught on pretty quickly and payed attention to every instruction and correction I gave him (“You’re skipping a loop again. If you do that, it’ll make the rest of your stitches uneven.” “Try to do an extra stitch at the end. If you don’t, it’ll turn into a triangle.”). After he started getting the hang of it, I opened Stephen King’s book Pet Sematary and began to read. 

Several moments passed before Butters spoke again. “Hey Kenny. Um, I don’t m-mean to pry or nothin’, but I was wondering who that girl is.” He nodded over to the picture taped on my wall. Oh.

“That’s Karen. She’s my little sister. That picture was taken probably eight years ago.” I replied. “You would’ve liked Karen. She’s a sweet person. Like you. She’s my world. I miss her every single day.”

“Does she come to visit you?” He asked timidly.

I wanted to change the subject, but I knew that Butters was trying to suppress his interest as it was. It was only fair that I tell him more about my life before prison. “No. She, uh, died last year. She had cancer. If it had been caught just a little earlier, it wouldn’t have been fatal. But, my family’s pretty poor, you know?”

I breathed deeply. I didn’t want Butters to see me get choked up. He seemed at a loss for words. “Oh, Kenny. I’m so sorry for asking. I m-mean, it wasn’t my place to ask in the first place. You don’t need to tell me stuff like that if y-you don’t want ta.”

“No. I need to. I’ve been so secretive with you.” I let out a single bitter laugh. “I mean, you don’t even know why I’m here in the first place.”

“W-Well, it’s a personal question! I almost got punched in the face when I asked several other people why they were here on my first day.” Butters exclaimed.

I laughed. “Yeah, I see your point. Still.” I broke off. “I’m here because… I murdered my father.” 

I paused my explanation to watch Butters’ expression. He was shell shocked, certainly. He seemed a little guarded, but mostly unsure of how to take this information. 

“I-I-I’m sure you h-had good reasons, Ken.”

“Oh, I did.” I sighed, raking my fingers through my too-long hair. Here we go. “See, my dad was pretty abusive with us kids. He’d smack around me and Karen, and my older brother Kevin and he would get into these nasty fights when they’d been drinking. But he was even worse with my mom. They got into these pretty big verbal and physical fights practically on a daily basis. One time when he was pretty drunk, he got it into his head that my mom was the whole reason why we were poor and why he couldn’t hold on to a steady job. He started babbling about how if she wasn’t around anymore he could get ahold of things. Well, at some point he… got a hold of his shotgun and aimed it at her. I… I don’t know if he would’ve actually pulled that thing or not. But, there was a baseball bat we kept near the front door. I tore across the room and grabbed it as fast as I could. He was so drunk he-he didn’t even notice. I got behind him and cracked that bat over his head. He dropped to the floor so easily. It was, like, like, too easy. Too easy. And I just kept hitting him. Over and over and… Christ. He. He didn’t even have a face anymore. By the time I was done. My mom was grabbing my wrists and just. Begging. Begging me to stop. But I couldn’t. I never really stopped. Not even now. Not really. Karen. Thank God. Karen was spending the night at a friend’s house. More like sp-spending two months, really. But Kevin and mom. Saw what I did. Kevin turned me in.”

I was kind of a mess by the time I finished recalling all of this to Butters. He was in shock. I was experiencing some serious PTSD with this flashback. My body was shaking furiously, and I could feel the bat in my hands all over again. I could feel the blood on my face. See the body of my father on our ratty green carpet. Hear the static on our beaten radio and my own rotten horrified laughter. Smell all the iron. Agony. Confusion. Fear.

Ever since then I’ve always had a swooning mad terror over my own actions. Was this really something I was capable of? Butters had a peculiar look of sympathy on his face. As if in some subconscious way he’d been expecting just this. It made me both relieved and unbelievably upset. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He took my shaking body and just held me. A single sob escaped from captivity out of my throat. He didn’t care. He didn’t care that he was holding a man who had murdered his own father. He didn’t care.

We stayed there for a long time before Butters finally kissed my cheek and whispered, “I love you.” 

It had so much more meaning now. 

He spoke again. “Kenny. Can you draw?”

I was surprised. “Yeah. I’m decent. Why?”

“I want you to give me a tattoo.”

Startled, I replied. “Are you sure? It’s really painful getting a tat in prison. And it’s permanent. Are you sure… this is what you want?”

“I’m sure.”

“What do you want?”

“Surprise me.”

He presented his right shoulder to me, and I understood. He knew. Anything he’d say after what I told him would’ve been frivolous and entirely useless. The only way he could truly communicate his acceptance was through something symbolic like this. I had never truly respected someone until now. I pulled out a pen and a lighter and set to work.

Immediately I had to stop to get him a shirt or something to bite down on. He was trying his hardest not to scream and it was kind of killing me to do this, but he was adamant. This was what he wanted, and by God, I had better do it for him. So I continued until it was complete.

By the time I had finished, I announced that it was complete and he inspected my work carefully. It was a simple yet grand grim reaper. His scythe curved around Butters’ bicep protectively and was solemn yet beautiful (if I do say so myself). Butters seemed pleased when I explained to him, “For good luck.” I kissed him softly.

“You were a painter, right? Do you think you could give me one too?” I asked, already rolling up my sleeve. I already had tattoos on my right wrist. But those didn’t count. They were just tallies.

“I could sure try.” He replied. “Do you have something in mind?”

“Nope.”

I bit into the shirt and hissed as he began. He was having a tough time seeing me in pain, and would stop every so often to squeeze my shoulder empathetically, but he did it. When he proclaimed he was done, I looked down at my bicep and gasped. Butters had crafted a gorgeous angel; sad and reserved. It was perfect.

“For luck.” He whispered. I kissed him passionately, caressing his cheek. We stayed like that for a while until I sighed and told him it was time to go prepare for lunch. We headed over and met everyone else in the kitchen. This time, Kyle was there.

“Oh, hey.” He greeted to us. “I was just going to go looking for you two, I was wondering… Have either of you observed anything strange with Tucker?”

Butters gave him confused look. Kyle continued. “Like, have you seen him do or eat anything unusual?”

I knew what this was about, but Butters spoke up quickly. “Why are you so interested? Donovan and Tweak have been asking the same thing every day since he started acting weird. I mean, I get that. But why are you suddenly concerned?” 

“Well,” Kyle seemed hesitant. “It might be nothing. Actually, never mind.”

And with that, he walked off and out of the kitchens.

“Don’t worry.” Donovan spoke up from his place next to Tucker. “He grilled all of us too. I’m kind of glad, actually. Craig’s just getting worse and worse each day.”

“Don’t call me that.” Tucker snapped, clenching his stomach tightly. At least his shining personality hadn’t taken a blow.

“Sorry.” Donovan did not seem sorry.

Kyle had come up to me not too long ago in confidence after Butters and I had eavesdropped on his little talk with Testaburger and Cartman. Apparently, Cartman had heavily hinted that there was someone in the kitchen who was ‘betraying them’. It was extremely likely that it was just Cartman’s half-assed way of trying to stir up shit, but it was honestly safer to assume that whatever he was talking about was somehow related to Tucker’s ebbing health. At least, that’s probably how Kyle saw it.

“Hey! Nice tattoos you two!” Donovan exclaimed, giving a cheesy ‘two thumbs up of approval’.

“Haha, thanks.” I replied, tearing open another food bag and spilling its contents into the pots. Butters and I quickly got to work.

“Are you SURE he won’t come back?” Butters asked about thirty minutes after lunch. I was currently ramming my dick into him in the chapel. 

“I promise he won’t. Garrison takes the days off to sleep. Plus, today isn’t Wednesday, Saturday, or Sunday.” I panted, keeping my pace in spite of our side conversation. “We’re good.”

Butters let out a little shudder as I reached around to grasp his cock firmly and pump in rhythm. It was too easy being around him. Life was so much better now. But a large part of me was just waiting for the other foot to drop.

But instead of focusing on that, I chose to concentrate on the person in front of me. Butters really was beautiful. It wasn’t a picture-perfect model kind of beautiful. I mean, he was very outwardly adorable. But it was more like, his character and unique sense of self was what really made him into someone I cherished. And the cute little noises he made during sex were a nice addition.

Finally, he cried out as I hit that special spot inside of him repeatedly and he came. A minute or so later, I felt my own orgasm tear through me and when it was over we just laid there together. The afterglow was arguably my favorite part. I held Butters to my chest and felt his breathing soften. We talked about anything and everything, telling each other little things about us. Finally, when the sky started to darken, it became apparent that we had one final meal of the day to prepare. We put our clothes back on and headed back to the kitchen.

Tweak stopped me at the kitchen door. “Kenny, can I, like, talk to you alone for a minute?”

I sighed inwardly and nodded, telling Butters I’d be in in a little bit. “What is it Tweak?”

“Um, well.” We walked a ways away from the door. “I, like, can’t do this man. I mean! I really thought I could stay clean, okay?! But, man. I don’t think I can anymore! What should I do?!”

I grabbed his arms. “Tweak? Dude, you need to calm down a little first, okay?”

“But I CAN’T!! Don’t you see?!” He cried in anguish. “Tits are the only thing that can calm me down at this point, man! I can’t even think straight for like thirty seconds!”

“Tweak, we’ve been over this. If you have tits again they’ll fuck up your new prescription and you’ll be in some deep water, okay? You have to get a hold of yourself. Go to group therapy. It helped before, didn’t it?”

“I CAN’T!” He screamed. “I can’t I can’t I can’t! Eric Cartman is going there now! Testaburger made him or something. I mean. I would take Tucker but. But he’s-”

The was a loud screech that wasn’t from Tweak. It had come from inside the kitchen. I exchanged a frightened look with Tweak and we both went hurdling for the door. I ripped it open and my blood turned cold.

Kyle was gripping a blunt kitchen knife with white knuckles and he was pointing it at Butters. 

“What THE FUCK WAS THAT?!! WHAT WAS THAT?!” He screamed, lifting the knife menacingly. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TO TUCKER?!”

“Kyle, please-” Butters began.

“NO. NO! I CAUGHT YOU. YOU WERE PUTTING GLASS IN HIS FOOD JUST NOW, WEREN’T YOU?! You better back the FUCK off or I swear to God!”

Kyle’s face was so red it was practically purple. His eyes blazed dangerously and he held the knife with a ferocious stubbornness. Butters was trying to get closer to Kyle. To calm him down. I couldn’t quite process what I was seeing or hearing. I just couldn’t. The only thing I understood was that what Butters was doing was the exact opposite of what Kyle wanted.

“BUTTERS!” I cried. “NO STOP!!”

But it was too late. Everything suddenly made sense with the most utter clarity. He had lied to me. I knew that now. Especially when Kyle’s blunt knife stabbed directly into Butters’ eye and blood spilled onto the kitchen floor.


	7. Curled Up in Fright

[Butter’s POV]

The impact was something alright. The searing, slicing agony spread from the nerves in my eye to the rest of my body like wildfire. The pain was so intense it stole the words from my throat and left me entirely speechless. My mouth was hanging suspended in shock and something in the back of my mind told me that my back had hit the floor just then. Hot sticky red blood- my blood splattered across the floor after me and I felt the vibrations of stamping feet through my fingertips. Someone came down with me and straddled my chest. Heavy breathing. Everything was heightened. Adrenaline coursed through my body and poured my blood out quicker. I was going to die, wasn’t I?

I heard a scuffle, something hit something else and the person on top of me grunted and was presumably pulled off of me. A second later a pair of clammy hands grasped my head and propped it up. My depth perception was off and my other eye went completely black, as if I were covering it with my hand instead of it being stabbed out. I couldn’t see who it was that was holding me.

“Butters, my God!! Get the fucking nurse!” Kenny screamed at someone from right above me. “Goddamn it, GO! He’s going to die!”

A moment passed. And several pairs of feet slapped against the kitchen’s tile. “Kyle. KYLE. Don’t you fucking touch him!!”

Broflovski let out some angry shouts from another corner and it sounded as if he were being restrained. I didn’t care anymore. Let him kill me. Someone was going to anyway. Eventually.

[Stan’s POV]

The spat with Stotch and Kyle had caused quite the ripple in the prison, which was honestly surprising since I was certain most of the inmates didn’t even care about them. But there were whispers of conspiracies involving some popular topics; like the plotted murder of Tucker and anyone remotely against him. Even now, two weeks after the incident, inmates were still on edge and murmuring of wild ideas involving the kitchen. With Tucker out of the picture, at least for now, the kitchen was once again a breeding ground for drugs. Me and my fellow correctional officers tried our best to stop the trafficking at its source, but we’d obviously had a breach of some sort. A large number of my co workers were convinced that breach was me, since I apparently attract a lot of prisoners who ‘are on the leg’, so to speak. In a way, I guess they’re right. I’d do something illegal and lose my job in a heartbeat if it meant keeping Kyle out of trouble, but ever since he stabbed Stotch, he’s been confined in the SHU (security housing unit). Kyle’s a fighter, but it killed him to be put in solitary. To add insult to injury, I was the officer that had to throw him in. 

There was nothing worse than solitary confinement, unless you manage to get put in the psych ward.

Essentially the SHU is this: a single white-washed square room, often only decorated in stains from things I’d rather not even think about. There is no bed. Our state provides the SHU with a steel, bolted-in, low toilet. There is a slot for food trays to be passed in and out of. And there is a heavy steel door with the tiniest window imaginable that’s thick with glass. The inmate is stripped of all belongings- all clothing items included, and is left there to rot. Kyle’s been in there for two whole weeks alone, and he still has one more to go (not that I could tell him that. He has no idea how long he’s in there for and that’s how it’s supposed to be). 

I’ve spent most of that time peering at him through that goddamn cocksucking window. I can’t tell if it helps him for me to be there or not. Most of the time he’s sitting down in a corner facing away from the door, holding his head in his hands. Knowing Kyle, he probably doesn’t want to be seen this way from me. Vulnerable. Upset. Jarred. He tends to think into things more than is probably healthy to begin with, and now that he’s alone with only his thoughts…

But today he did something completely different. He, like countless of other prisoners I’ve seen get locked up in solitary, had begun whispering and eventually audibly talking to himself sometime last week. Like I said, this was very common for prisoners to do, but it was honestly really spooky coming from my number one best friend. Like. It didn’t just happen to psychos and freaks. No one was safe from the metal torment of the SHU. But yesterday, he had been chatting with himself like usual, this time about me. His one-sided conversations seemed to favor this topic as well as Ike’s progression from being the smart ass kid to becoming an illegal substance dealer and all the pressures he had from his parents growing up. But he was really stuck today on what happened in the past between me and him. He began listing off numerous ways he could’ve dealt with the situation better and how it was his fault but then not his fault… His voice just kept rising and rising until he was shrieking. His face turned a reddened purple and he thrashed his fists against the walls in anguish. 

My blood immediately ran cold and I made a judgement call. I pulled the dead bolt quickly, unlocked the other lock with my keys and wrenched the steel door open, closing it behind me. I grabbed Kyle’s fists and fell to the floor, taking him with me.

By now his knuckles were stained in blood.

“Kyle…” I began, trying to keep my voice steady. “Please… Please calm down.”

He seemed at a loss for words and just looked away, refusing to meet my gaze. “Get out of here, Stan.”

I felt like he had struck me, but I reasoned that he didn’t fully understand what was going on. “Kyle, you need to-”

“GET OUT OF HERE STAN!!” He screamed, ripping his hands out of mine and throwing himself back violently, falling backwards and smacking the back of his head against the wall. He groaned wordlessly but continued the thrash.

“Kyle,” I spoke again, my voice raised a little. He stood quickly and backed away from me, his back resting against the wall. He didn’t speak. 

I stood as well. Slowly. I didn’t want to startle him. I reached out my hand to him in what I hoped was a calming gesture.

He didn’t seem to think so.

He snarled at my attempt to soothe him and backed off to the farthest corner of the room he could. I was startled by his response and backed away as well. We stood, both slightly crouched, at opposite ends of the room.

What happened to him?

We were still for a long time before Kyle dropped to a crouch. Surprised, I decided to mirror his rather animalistic movements. Maybe he would somehow understand that better. With his eyes locked onto mine, he crawled over in my direction on all fours. I felt a little silly, but knew I had to do the same. But as soon as we got within five feet of each other, he sprang at me with wild eyes. 

I jumped away as fast as I could, but he managed to grab onto my arm and dragged me closer to him, his other hand trying to clasp at my throat. A sudden fear quelled in the pit of my stomach and I fought back fiercely, trying to push him off of me. But Kyle was clever. He swiftly grabbed my shoulders and with my momentum threw me clear across the room. I tried to regroup on the opposing wall, but he had run over with me and he threw his foot up to kick me in the stomach. I doubled over and gasped of air, unable to stop him from straddling me from behind and trying to choke me out.

My breath completely lost, I took a few wobbly seconds to stand, lifting him in the air with me, kicking and screaming. I slammed his body into one of the walls, trying to free my neck from his tight grasp. I finally managed to throw him off and he hit the ground. I felt bad, seeing his stunned expression, but I knew I needed to escape. I trailed along the walls, feeling them with my fingertips, all the while never losing sight of Kyle. I was about halfway to the door when he moved again.

But he didn’t attack me again. Instead, he curled into himself on the floor and let out a little strangled gasp. A flare of hope rose like a flame in my chest. Had Kyle finally come to his senses?

I walked over to him cautiously until I was only two feet away. He was looking at me in stifled pain. My heart went out to him; he would most certainly have a lot to mull over negatively after this little encounter. I gathered my courage and stroked his cheek as gently as I could without shaking too bad.

But as soon as I made contact with his skin his bolted up, back into his crouch. I bolted with him, reaching out my hand wordlessly. He looked at it carefully and then looked back up at me. He so very cautiously took my hand and placed it back on his pallid cheek. 

He appeared to visibly calm down and turned, allowing me to loosely hold him. We stayed like that for a couple moments, until he sharply turned his head and bite down on my hand. I yelled and tried to yank it back as I felt his teeth cutting into my flesh. When I finally managed to pry it away from him he stood, screamed at me, and ran back to his corner.

I was getting pretty goddamn tired of this game of cat and mouse. Enraged, I flew at him, feeling the blood ooze out of my hand. He leaped out of the way, but this time I chased after him. I grabbed him and threw him over my neck in a fit of blind pain and flung him around. I felt him thrive and thrash about before managed to work his way free, hitting the floor yet again. I threw myself onto him as he tried to back away and straddled him. 

“Talk to me Kyle!” I screamed. “What is happening to you?!”

He pried an arm free and clotted me in the ear. It wasn’t a very strong blow, but it made my ear ring painfully nonetheless. My grip on him slackened and he did something else I didn’t expect. He threw me aside, tore through my officer’s jacket pockets, and fished out my ring of keys. He sprinted to the door and began trying key after key in the lock, hissing and crying out when they wouldn’t fit. 

Wincing from the throbbing in both my ear and my hand, I scrambled after him, refusing to let him escape. But as I grasped his ankles, he had located the correct key and had gotten the door open.

I held on for dear life as Kyle tried to kick free his feet. There were no other guards patrolling this area, since we were so understaffed. He was so close to freedom, it was driving him positively mad. All of his thrashing did him a disservice, however. He ended up losing his balance and toppling backwards, partly on top of me.

I let go of one of his feet and pounded my palm against the door, trying with all my might to close it. But Kyle was positively rabid. He pulled himself up like one would for a sit up and grabbed at my hand on the door. He ripped it off and flung outside, tearing free of my other hand. With a gleeful exclamation, he closed the door shut in my face. I pounded wildly on the door in blind protest, but he just smiled at me. I yelled out a wordless roar at him and punched the door in anger, causing it to bleed more than it already was.

A deep sense of dread settled onto me in the room and I peered out of the window at Kyle. Now I knew what it felt like for him. He grinned at me haughtily and pointed down to the food tray window. With no other option, I knelt down to it obediently. 

I waited for something to happen. Finally I heard Kyle whisper something to me. “It’s my fault, Stan.”

A wave crashed down on me as I listened to Kyle- my Kyle, finally speak an actual tangible sentence. I didn’t know what he was referring to, whether it was Stotch’s assault or mine, but I didn’t care. Kyle seemed to be momentarily sane enough to speak.

“Kyle.” I let out an exhausted sigh. “Please. What are you doing?”

He didn’t reply, but I heard the door unlock. He walked back in calmly, like freedom wasn’t even his main goal anymore. I gathered the reminder of my strength- both mental and physical and stood. He fell into my chest and embraced me.

“Stan.” He said in an endearing tone that was all too familiar. “Do you remember that time in freshman year when we were playing video games with Kenny? I was upset about how my parents were already planning for me to go to Harvard and Kenny went out to go to the bathroom. You squeezed my thigh and told me that whether I was a Harvard student or a hobo you’d still be my family. Do you remember that?”

I nodded stiffly in his embrace, only just barely distinguishing the memory he was referring to. There had been so many like that.

“That’s when I knew I was in love with you.”

This was by far the most excruciating pain Kyle had inflicted on me so far. My knees gave out and I sunk to the floor in defeat. He followed me, cradling my face in his hands. He ran his fingers over the surface of my face and examined my eyes very carefully. He kissed my forehead lingeringly and took up one of my hands, dragging me to the door. 

“We should just run away, Stan. You and me. Get out of this place and start over. Somewhere clean.” He spoke and he led me to the door.

“Kyle.” I choked out, finally feeling the emotion catch up with me as tears forced their way down my cheeks. “You’re sick.”

“....I know.” He stated simply. He gave me a brittle little smile and patted me with finality once on the chest. “It’s time for you to go, Stan.”

“Please.” I begged him. “Please just hold out for one more week, Kyle. Just one more. I’ll get you the proper medication, I promise. You’ll… God, you’ll be back to the way you were before, Kyle. I promise. Just stay here and keep yourself safe, okay? I’ll come back for you. We can escape and- I’ll always be thinking of you, Kyle, I promise. I prom-”

I couldn’t look at him. I was nearly hysterical myself, and I walked out of the already open door before turning around to kiss him quickly. He stepped back and let me shut the door without a scene.

As I began to walk away, I reflected on what had happened. I was certain I knew what was wrong with him. Temporary insanity. This piss stain of a place was messing with him worse than I originally thought. He was going to lose himself if I didn’t get him out of here.

I looked up at the dismal clock on the wall and sighed. My shift had been over twenty minutes ago. Testaburger and a couple of my other co workers had planned for us all to go out drinking tonight and they were probably wondering where I was. I trudged out of the SHU and walked over to the officer’s changing rooms, ripping open the heavy door and heading over to my locker. My favorite coworker, Gary Harrison, was already changing out of his uniform.

“Stan!” He greeted, lifting a hand in greeting. I dipped my head in a polite nod. “How was SHU today?”

I swallowed and replied stiffly. “How it always is.”

Unfazed, he asked. “You’re going tonight, right? It wouldn’t be the same without my wing man!”

“Yeah. I’ll be there.” Honestly I had no idea why Gary even went to these things. He couldn’t drink because of his religion, but he claimed he ‘liked socializing’. I truly couldn’t even comprehend why someone would willingly want to talk to other people sober like he does, but he’s a nice enough guy.

“How have the inmates been treating you lately? You’ve been watching Broflovski’s cell like a hawk since he got in. Do you think he was smuggling drugs?”

Drugs. As if. Now that Kyle’s been acting up recently, everyone has been talking about him like he was some rabid animal or something. 

“He’s not like that.” I snapped, shrugging out of my uniform. “He’s just had a rough go of it.”

“That stunt he pulled with Stotch would say otherwise.”

“Gary, just. Don’t. Not tonight.”

“Why not?” He prodded, trying to meet my eyes with his. “Stan, you haven’t been yourself since he got here. Clearly he has some sort of hold on you. Look, I get trying to sympathize with an inmate. But it’s not a healthy thing to do. Just let him sort out things for himself. He seems like a pretty violent guy, so once he’s out of SHU he’ll be fine. Really.”

Annoyed, I slipped on my normal clothes and buckled my belt in silence.

“Hey.” Gary began yet again. “How about you come over to my place after the bar? It might do you some good to just unwind.”

I pulled on my jacket with a sigh. “I don’t know, dude. I’m not as good at socializing like you are under stress. I think I shouldn’t bite off more than I can chew tonight.” 

Gary looked a little peeved but walked me out with a small “Okay man.” We headed out to the parking lot and went off to our cars. 

We arrived about the same time to The Drunken Huntsmen. Inside the double doors was a large bar decorated with collections of souvenirs from Ireland. Kilts were nailed above the doorways and a blazing grand fireplace was burning hot in the middle of the building. The cups were chipped and the seats were ripped, but I and everyone else reveled in the homey feel it gave off. Every night the same red-headed woman played the accordion and sang, and tonight she was laughing in the back at something a bearded man had said. Scanning the bar, Gary and I managed to find our boss and her best friend and coworker, Bebe Stevens, off to the right in a booth. Gary called out to get their attention and we greeted them and slid into seats beside them.

“Hey! I’m glad you could make it!” Wendy smiled, taking a drink from her beer mug. “We were just wondering if you two would show up.”

“Are the others coming?” I asked, looking around.

“Well, Rebecca’s over at the bar getting us some more drinks and Garrison and Mackey are over by the TV watching the game. From what we last saw, the Broncos were down by one.”

“Fuck.” I grumbled. “Well, I’m gonna go get a drink or two too. Do you want anything Gary?”

“Just some water.” He replied, and off I went. 

Over at the bar, I immediately downed three shots of Jim Beam Devil’s Cut Whiskey before I even considered going back to the booth. And by the time I did, Rebecca (the newly hired doctor for the prison) had come back and had taken my seat. So I set down Gary’s glass of water, grabbed a beer off the table, and went over to join Mackey and Garrison.

Wendy had been right. By the time I sat down next to my two coworkers, the Broncos were down by three. The odds of them winning were practically nonexistent this game. Mackey was downing some beer with rosy cheeks as Garrison was screaming at the TV. Looking at the priest, I felt a sudden rage quell up in the pit of my stomach. Here was this awful, raunchy ‘holy’ man with all the freedom he could dream of, wasting his time screaming at an old television set while Kyle was literally losing his mind in an enclosed cell. Kyle deserved to be here getting shitfaced with me. He deserved to wallow over the Broncos impending defeat with me and snicker over how ridiculous and dull my coworkers were. Kyle would hate Gary with a passion and would probably get into long drunk conversations about water conservation with Wendy. He’d probably avoid Bebe and Rebecca like I did and halfway through the night he’d just turn to me and whisper “Let’s get out of here.” He deserved to do all of these things more than I even did. And it made me want to punch Garrison in his fucking face.

After he had finished his beer, Mackey noticed me and exclaimed, “Stan! When did you get here?”

“About ten minutes ago , I think.” 

“Did you say hi to the girls yet, mmkay?” He asked.

“Yeah, I did.” 

“I think Wendy might fancy you, Stan. She seems to like you an awful lot, mmkay.” 

“Eww gross!” Garrison cut in, sitting down next to Mackey. “Don’t go for that fuckin’ cunt, Stan. You can do waaaay better.”

“Now I think Wendy’s a nice girl. Maybe a little too jealous, but she’s nice enough, mmkay.”

“No fuckin’ way.” Garrison burped. “If you know anything about Wendy, you’ll know better than to bang her. That bitch has some serious baggage.”

“Why would you of all people know that?” I asked in exasperation. I wasn’t drunk enough to talk to Garrison yet. 

“Because I actually pay attention when people fuckin’ talk in hallways and the like.” He snapped. “But anyway, I’m gonna tell you Stan. So that you don’t make a big ass mistake and walk in a goddamn minefield of menstrual pain and suffering. So pay attention.”

I sighed but was drunk enough to let him continue. It’s not like I had anything better to listen to anyway. “So basically Wendy was talkin’ to her bitch friend Bebe about some sort of prescription she was supposed to be taking for, get this, bipolar disorder. Apparently she lost her pills and they refused to give her more, thinkin’ she was an addict or something. Our fuckin’ boss is bi-fuckin’-polar can you believe it?!” He snorted and wobbled on his chair. “You gotta wonder if it was a gene thing or if something majorly fucked up happened, you know?”

Feeling uncomfortable, I quickly announced, “I’m gonna go get another couple shots.”

I left Garrison to his chortling and headed back over to the bar. It’s hard to say how many shots I had, but at some point Gary pulled me away from the bar and told me it was probably best if I got home. He walked me over to his car and opened the passenger’s side for me. After helping me get my seat belt on, he ran across to the driver’s side and got in. 

“You’re pretty drunk, huh?” He grinned as we got on the freeway. 

“Maaybe.”

We drove in a comfortable silence until he stopped in front of my apartment.

“You’re number 362, right?” He asked as I fumbled with the keys to the front. 

“Ye- ah.” 

He grabbed my arm as we approached the stairway and helped me get up them. I pointed to the right of the hallway and we managed to get in front of my door.

“Hey Stan?” He asked. “Can I come in for a bit?”

“Surewhynot.” 

I held open the door and he stepped in. 

“I was meaning to ask you something, actually.”

“Oh really? What?” I was interested. It sounded somewhat serious.

“Well, uh. Do you think? Do you think being gay is a sin?” He asked quietly.

“How the fuck would I know? You’re the Mormon here.” In the back of my head, I was wincing at how harsh that sounded, but at least it was true. “I’m fine with gay people, personally. So I don’t really care.”

“Well, I know you’re okay with being gay. Aren’t you homosexual too?” 

Where the hell did that come from?! “What. What are you talking about?”

“Stan, we’ve been coworkers for a long time. It’s kind of obvious when you’re checking out the other guys in the changing room.”

“Oh. Well. Why are we talking about this?” 

“Because.” He stepped closer to me. “I like you, Stan. You’re a really interesting, sensitive guy. I like that you care about the inmates so much.” 

All of a sudden he was kissing me. My brain was slow to picking up what was happening, but after a moment, I pushed him away. 

“No. I can’t. I’m in love with someone else.” 

Gary let out a little bitter laugh. “Now who the heck could that be? I know you, Stan. You don’t exactly see many people on a regular basis that aren’t behind bars.”

And there it was. It slipped out before I could stop myself. 

“Kyle.”

It went deathly quiet. Not even my heater made a noise.

“Kyle Broflovski?”

 

[Damien’s POV] 

Most people don’t know this, but it’s actually really goddamn hard being a satanist. It kills conversations before they’ve even begin, and it doesn’t leave much room for friendships to evolve. That’s why when that blonde guy with the awkward British accent actually agreed with me on my views, I became a little obsessed with finding out who this person was. We started talking after Marsh’s ‘let’s pretend we’re normal and in a class’ thing about some really deep topics. Abortion, equal salary pay, saving the environment… whatever really. And even though we’d initially have differing opinions, we would both always come to a certain understanding of the other side and alter our views a little. It was disturbing how much we actually had in common, but there was always one topic we’d never dare discuss. Religion.

We always hung out along a certain side of the wire fence, and I assumed he’d be there now. When I got there, it turned out I was right. He was sitting with his back to the fence, reading a book titled ‘Al Gore: A Wake-Up Call To Global Warming’. Typical. I plopped down on the ground next to him.

He looked up from his book. “Damien! There you are. I was wondering how long it would take you before you showed up here.”

“Now you know.”

“Listen. I really think we should start an organization right away about the effects global warming will have on our future. Wouldn’t it make just the hugest statement if prisoner’s of all people-”

Here we go.

“Pip, I want to talk to you about something.” 

“Oh- Oh really? Well, I suppose global warming can wait for a moment longer in that case. What is it?” 

“Well, we’ve never really addressed the elephant in the room before. I think we should now.” I hoped I wouldn’t lose a potential friend for this.

“What elephant? ...Oh my! Are you attracted to me, Damien? Because I think-”

“NO! That’s not what I meant at all!” I yelled. “We’ve never talked about the fact that I worship fucking Satan!”

“Oh… That.” Pip giggled nervously. “Well, I mean. I didn’t want to pressure you or anything of the sort. I just thought to myself ‘Phillip! If Damien doesn’t bring it up, then you shouldn’t be rude and pry about it!’ So I didn’t. What exactly would you like to say about it?”

I was caught off-guard and somewhat unnerved by his answer. “Well, does it scare you that my father is Satan?”

“Initially, I suppose it did. But my goodness, Damien! You’re such a nice Antichrist, don’t you think? Why, you’ve been nothing but accepting of my views and you haven’t made me feel uncomfortable in the slightest!”

I really didn’t even know where to begin to respond to that. “Well… Doesn’t it… Conflict with your religious beliefs?”

“It would have before. I was raised a Catholic, after all. But you see, my parents are dead, so no one really enforces that on me much. The orphanage did, but everyone hated me there, so I didn’t really pay their thoughts much mind. All I really care about is protecting the world I’m in from falling to the harmful effects of global warming!” Pip thought for a moment. “I suppose it’d be nice to be a Wiccan, wouldn’t it? They respect the Earth, and that way, I wouldn’t be intruding on your own beliefs at all. In fact, I believe most of them are cultists of sorts.”

I smirked. “You’d be a fucking terrible Wiccan.”

“Well, I’d a least give it a shot! When we get out of here, we could have a nice little place in the woods. Somewhere away from toxic civilization. And we could paint a cute little pentagram on the door and have altars and candles all over.” Pip didn’t seem embarrassed in the slightest by his assumption that we’d stick together after we got out of prison. It was oddly endearing.

“What about the blood sacrifices? Would you be okay with that?” I played along.

“If they were sacrifices of older animals that have lived a full life, I’d make an exception.” He laughed.

We daydreamed about our lives outside of prison for a countless amount of time after that. But deep down, we both knew. Once you’re in the system, you can’t escape it. There is no end to your sentence. But for now, I was happy pretending that wasn’t true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so that's all that's currently uploaded on my Fanfiction account. Let me know how you feel about the story so far, and things you want to see! I have a pretty set story line, but I could work in most things you would like to see happen probably :) Thank you for reading this far!


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